


Lost Boys

by detectivejigsaw



Series: Shanklin Pines [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Adventure, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bromance, Fighting Pines twins, Gen, Non-romantic slow burn, Pines brothers being awesome, Portal Pines, Shanklin Pines-verse, Some violence but I dunno if it counts as graphic, Sometimes you just wanna hit these boneheads with a rolled-up newspaper, Spoilers - Journal 3, Stangst, Yes both of them, if that makes any sense at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-05-18 21:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 35,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19342768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detectivejigsaw/pseuds/detectivejigsaw
Summary: Ford is not having a good day as he tries to think of an escape from being executed in the Finger Dimension.  And it doesn't get any better when his estranged twin shows up to rescue him.Stan Pines finds Ford, but the road to reconciliation is never easy, now is it?





	1. Making up is hard to do

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, Ford is a bit of a snot at first. Let's be honest, though, sometimes he is a bit of a snot. And he kind of has a right to be right now, because to quote a popular song, it hasn't been his day, his week, his month, or even his year.

Stanford Pines, formerly known as Stanford the First, bearer of the Crown of Phalanges, sovereign king of the Finger Dimension (working his way towards becoming Prime Minister Pines), was not having a good day.

And not just because he was sitting in a cold, damp dungeon, in chains, waiting to be executed.

Okay, mostly because he was sitting in a cold, damp dungeon, in chains, waiting to be executed.  Something like that tends to make any other problems you might be having at the time be dwarfed by comparison, unless your luck is particularly bad.

 

Ford had been there for a little over three weeks.  He had no idea where the supplies he'd brought to this dimension were, or the quantum destabilizer he’d been working on in his spare time.

He had been using a paperclip to pick the lock on one of his chains, but it had been discovered and confiscated by the jailer.  And unless he came up with another escape plan quickly, Ronald (aka Ronald the First, bearer of the Crown of Phalanges, _new_ sovereign king of the Finger Dimension) was going to have him brutally sliced to death.

With a growl of sheer frustration, Ford stood up and paced back and forth, as best he could in his shackled ankles.

 

As if he weren’t humiliated enough just by being in this dungeon, they kept his wrists and ankles chained at all times.  They hadn’t even followed his laws about humane treatment of prisoners.

_Ungrateful, weak-willed peasants!  I never should have accepted that stupid crown; I should have focused on getting more information about Bill, and just left!  After everything I’ve done for them, they just threw me aside the moment something better came along-who does that?!_

Had he been left to his own devices a little longer, perhaps he would have noted the dramatic irony in his thoughts.  Or perhaps not, since the whole point of dramatic irony is that the audience is supposed to be the only one who notices it.

Either way, his brooding was rudely interrupted by the sound of the lock on his door being fiddled with.

 

It didn’t sound like his normal jailer, who did tend to fumble a little on account of his fingers being on the short and stubby side (hence why he had such a lowly position in their society) but never took this long.  Besides, the rattling noises had a different tone than the keys did. What on earth-?

Seconds later, a distantly familiar, gruff voice muttered, “Screw it,” and there was a soft _zap_ as the lock was shot right off.

Ford could only stand transfixed as his cell opened, and a figure slipped inside, actually being ridiculous enough to close the door behind him, as if anyone who walked by wouldn’t notice the still-sizzling, gaping hole where the keyhole used to be.

_This is impossible.  I’m having a very vivid dream, probably brought on by breathing in the mold growing on the walls in here._

_This can’t be real._

_It can’t be._

The figure lowered the hood on his distinctly shabby red fleece-lined jacket, looking around with interest.

“Nice place you got here.”

Try as he might to deny it to himself, there was one person he knew who would say that, and who would look so much like him.

“ _Stanley?!_ ”

 

His twin looked only marginally better than he had the last time he’d seen him.  The only things that could be arguably described as an improvement were the removal of the mullet (though his current haircut still left much to be desired), and the visible lessening of his gut.  Surprisingly, his clothes weren’t anywhere near as filthy as Ford would have expected from his travels, and he also appeared to be toting a number of guns and a shoulder belt with what looked like a set of smoke bombs attached to it.

Stanley stared him up and down for a few seconds, eyes wide.  And then, unexpectedly, his lips curled into a tiny grin.

“‘S good to see ya.  Ready to get outta here?”

 

Ford couldn’t believe it.  That was _it_?!  After everything he’d ruined for him, Stanley was just going to waltz back into his life and act like none of it had ever happened?!

_I don’t think so!_

His twin had pulled out what looked like a tiny laser pen, and with only a “Hold still,” he pointed it at the cuff on his left wrist.  A lime green light shot out of it, kind of like that one movie franchise he’d started to develop an interest in before he’d gotten lost in the multiverse, and burned right through the hinges.

As soon as the manacle fell free, Ford’s hand clenched into a fist, which he threw in a fierce jab at Stanley’s jaw-

His wrist was caught in a viselike grip before he could make contact.

“You can hit me later, Sixer,” Stanley said, forcing his arm back down.  “Right now let’s focus on getting you free, ‘kay?”

“...Do you promise I can hit you later?” Ford finally managed to get out, as Stan burned through the hinges on his other wrist and then knelt to free his ankles.

“No.”

 _Typical_.

* * *

The Stanley formerly known as Shanklin was feeling lucky for once.  It was an unusual experience for him; he hoped he’d be able to get used to it.

What little cosmic sand he’d had left after the little...incident in the other dimension, in addition to the modifications he’d gotten to his portal gun, had fortunately been enough to send him back to the right time and more or less to the right spot; he wasn’t sure what he would have done if he’d gone back into the multiverse to look for a brother who was now more than thirty years older than him.  Sure, this one he was currently rescuing was starting to get gray hair, but that was probably just from stress.

The map in the journal currently sitting in his upper vest pocket had made it a cinch for him to get into this weird castle (The turrets all looked like pointing fingers.  Seriously? Didn’t these people have any idea how easily that could be misinterpreted?), and find the dungeon.

Everything was going according to plan.  Which probably meant it was all gonna blow up in his face pretty quick, but he might as well enjoy it while it lasted.

 

He noticed with a small flicker of amusement that his stony-faced twin was wearing the remains of what looked like a fancy velvet suit under all the prison grime.  Despite his nice duds, the rest of him looked a lot less refined; his big hands had become tougher and more callused than he remembered, and it looked like the past six years (Stan was pretty sure that was how long it had been) had actually given the nerd some muscles.  Altogether, he looked a little like some kinda space pirate. Of course, with his get-up and ensemble of scars and stuff, did Stan look any better?

 

Cautiously Stan went back to the cell door and pulled it open, peering first down one side of the hall, then the other.

So far, so good.

“They haven’t got rid of my diversion yet,” he whispered over his shoulder.  “C’mon.”

“What diversion?” Ford demanded softly.

“I let a herd of finger snails loose in the courtyard.”

He heard Ford mutter something that sounded a lot like, “Of course you did.”

It was followed shortly after, as they slipped out into the main part of the (unoccupied except for Ford) cell block and to the left, with “You used the portal, didn’t you?”

 

Ford’s tone was a blend of realization and accusation.

Stan didn’t answer him, going back along the route to the dungeon’s entrance.  Even though more than anything he wanted to hash all this out with his brother, the disturbingly sensible part of his brain that had arisen during his travels in this world was telling him that maybe they should wait until they weren’t in a place where the corridors were patrolled by giant carnivorous slugs and everyone seemed to want Ford dead (proving once again that nobody likes people who try to start social reforms).

“You _did_!”  Ford’s voice was even more accusing.  “What were you thinking, you knucklehead?!  Didn’t you read any of my warnings?! No, obviously you didn’t or you wouldn’t have done something so stupid!”

 _Oh yeah, because you could_ always _count on warnings to stop_ me _from doing something._  Stan rolled his eyes as he reached the door and opened it a crack.  “You’re welcome,” he muttered just loud enough for Ford to hear.

There was a soft splutter from behind him.  When Ford next spoke, it was in a sharp, icy tone that set Stan’s teeth on edge.

“Do you actually expect me to _thank_ you for this?  After _everything_ you did to me, and after you literally put the fate of our entire world at risk, you think I should-”

Before he knew what he was doing, Stan whirled around on him, jabbing a meaty finger into his chest.

“ _Look_ , Ford!  I know, okay?  I know I screwed up!  And you want a shock? I’m sorry!  Is that what you want?” He jabbed his finger for emphasis as he snarled out softly, “I’m sorry about your project, I’m sorry you had to go to a lousy college, I’m sorry that it’s my fault you got stuck in this g_dforsaken place for so long!  But right now, I am _trying_ to fix it, and it would be nice if you could _try_ to appreciate that!  At least a _little_!”

 

Oh, how he hated the note of pathetic pleading that entered his voice at the last part.  Quickly he looked down, away from Ford’s face, and muttered, “Your gun’s in the lab.  We oughta grab it before it gets taken apart.”

 

Stan told himself not to be disappointed if Ford didn’t answer his definitely-not-a-plea.  He had every right to still be hacked off at him, Stan had hurt him too much for him not to be, it was too soon to expect anything, maybe he shouldn’t expect anything at all, just because in one universe they managed to make up didn’t mean it would happen anywhere else, all that mattered was that soon enough Ford would be safe and (hopefully) home.

That didn’t stop it from stinging when silence was what he got, except for the thud of booted feet following him towards the lab.


	2. When slugs attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know it's been awhile since I added to this. Among other things, I'm kind of having roommate trouble right now which is causing me no small amount of frustration.  
> But hey, all the good writers are at least a little tortured in their personal lives, right?

The Pines twins moved silently and stealthily for the most part, though Ford was admittedly swaying on his feet a little.  Three weeks moldering in a dungeon living off whatever scraps they bothered to feed him wasn’t exactly conducive towards his physical health, and he also thought his limbs needed to get some of their circulation back.

He was also a little taken aback.

 

He had not been expecting a full-out, sincere, completely-taking-responsibility apology.  Not from Stanley. It wasn’t like his twin had never apologized to him for anything, but he had never done it like that.  No beating around the bush or trying to weasel out of it or making dumb excuses; just raw, unrestrained contrition. It had smashed down all Ford’s heated, righteous-wrath-filled words before he could unleash all the rage and frustration he’d been holding in for so long.  And maybe it was backward of him, but he felt a little annoyed by it.

He decided, however, that they could worry about that later, when they were out of danger.

* * *

 

Stanley seemed to have remarkably little trouble making his way to where the lab was; Ford wondered if he’d discovered a map or something.  There were more than a few times where they had to dodge both courtiers and security cameras (for the first time Ford felt annoyed with himself for designing and implementing those), before they came to it.

It was the crown jewel of the palace, with state-of-the-art scientific, magical and even alchemical equipment inside, and even an automatic jelly bean dispenser as an extra nice touch.  The idea of that seven-fingered twit being able to get inside, and undoing all the hard work he’d accomplished with his quantum destabilizer, made Ford’s blood boil.

They made their way towards the door.  It wasn’t as ostentatious as you’d expect for such an important place; simple and white, with a security code and retinal and handprint scanners to only allow a few authorized personnel.  Unfortunately, since Ford was not the only one with access to the lab (he’d organized a small team of fellow scientists, despite his past experiences with including others in his research), it was possible that someone had changed the combination and/or locked him out of the system by now.

 

Stan removed one of the guns from his belt; before he could aim, Ford smacked his hand.

“You can’t shoot that, you idiot!  It’s got an automatic defense mechanism!”

Stan gave him an acidic glare.  “I was  _ going _ to break the security camera, and then cover your back while you hack into it or whatever.  I’m assuming you can, since you built this thing.”

After a second, Ford growled, “Get out of my way, then.”

“Again, don’t bother to thank me for being willing to watch your back.”  But Stan fired at the camera so it was stuck pointing away from them, before standing aside.  Ford bit back a scathing retort so he could focus on the door, hoping they had enough time before someone came to investigate.

* * *

 

It would be so much easier if he had some equipment with him...thank goodness he hadn’t followed through with his idea of installing a device to shock all unauthorized personnel who touched the security pad, he thought as he opened it up.

To his relief, the security code was unchanged.  As he was considering whether he dared trying either of the scanners, though, he heard the sound of slithering coming down the hall.

 

Giant carnivorous slugs, in addition to being more vicious than the average gastropod, are a lot faster.  They’re also frighteningly tenacious and have an excellent sense of smell, so even if you could outrun one, it would continue to follow your trail almost nonstop until or unless something more tasty-looking caught its interest.  And here was one bearing down on them right now, mucus-filled saliva dripping from its gaping maw, eyestalks waving back and forth hungrily.

“Ford…” Stan said warningly.  “You wanna try getting us in? Like right now?”

“I don’t know if it will work!” Ford said in a bit of a frantic whisper.  “If I’ve been removed from the people who can open the lab, it’s going to go on lockdown-hey!”

A few seconds later his face was being roughly squashed against the retinal scanner, and he heard the roar of a blaster being fired, followed by a shrill scream and a splattering noise.  Something slimy-sounding and smelling slightly charred slapped into the back of his head and slid down his shirt.

The retinal scanner, even though he was closer to it than he needed to be, chimed and glowed green.

 

Ford managed to pull back, and press his hand against the other scanner-green, again.  The door clicked open.

Slowly he turned; Stanley’s front was caked in unappetizing green goo, which he was trying to wipe off his face onto his equally-smeared sleeve.

“This stuff’s not poisonous or anything, right?” he asked.

“I would not attempt to ingest it,” Ford said with just a touch of snidity as he stepped into the lab.

Right into a glowing blue cage which sprang up around him on all sides and then closed on top like a trap.

He barely heard his twin’s alarmed cry, as his senses focused on the smiling face in front of him.

“I knew you’d probably come here,” said Ronald.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dum DUM DUM!!!!!!


	3. Sorry, but this is where we get off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post a chapter a little early in honor of the Fourth of July. For those of you who are American, that is; for the British, you might not appreciate the sentiment as much. Sorry. It's nothing personal.  
> For people from other nationalities...I hope you appreciate the early chapter anyway.

The current king of the Finger Dimension was shorter than you would expect.  He also had faded brown hair which was kind of thinning on top, and watery gray eyes that were naturally surrounded by a series of darker gray concentric ovals, a common genetic quirk of the people of his dimension.  His large, pale, seven-fingered hands reminded Ford a little bit of butterflies, because they were often waved and fluttered about as he talked. The Crown of Phalanges was a little big for his head, making him somewhat resemble a child playing dress up.  Not that it had been particularly comfortable for Ford to wear either, but at least he had enough hair that it looked like it fit!

Surprisingly, he was alone; he hadn’t even brought a guard to the lab.  Ford bristled even more at this man’s absolute arrogance. And told his mind to shut up when it pointed out that he _had_ managed to capture Ford without any guards.

 

Ronald leaned one arm on his scepter and said conversationally, standing just a foot away from the cage’s bars, “You know this is nothing personal, right?  It’s just a matter of maintaining power and the respect of my new subjects.” His eyebrows knitted together in an almost apologetic expression. “I simply can’t leave you alive if there’s a chance that someday you might revolt and try to take the throne back from me. I’d let you stay on as one of my courtiers or something, or even banish you if I thought that would work, but you have so much ambition and arrogance it just doesn’t seem like a safe option.”

Ford surged towards him (but not too close; even in his rage he could hear the faint telltale humming of electricity coursing through the bars).  “I wouldn’t stay even if you asked me to, you obnoxious little raccoon!”

“Rack-coon?”  Ronald looked confused and shook his head.  “They have such bizarre insults out here in the multiverse.  No matter; I suppose I have to change the date of your execution to today now.  Sorry, again, but it’ll make it harder for everyone if you keep trying to escape all the time.”

 

Ford was about to really lay into him when a voice asked, “Are you two done?”

Both monarchs, current and former, blinked in bewilderment, and looked over at the corner of the lab where Stanley, completely forgotten by both of them in their mutual hostility, had moseyed around the cage where Ford was imprisoned and wandered inside, effortlessly scooping the quantum destabilizer off the table where it had been lying.

* * *

Stan didn’t even try to hide his smirk at how equally flabbergasted his brother and the king looked.  He just slung the destabilizer across his back, and glanced over at the little mole man who he was guessing was Ronald.  He was looking back and forth between them in bewilderment; maybe he’d never seen twins before. Or maybe-an idea sparked.

Clearing his throat, Stan said in his best prissy-Ford voice, “Well, Ronald, I see you’ve successfully captured my clone.  It’s a very good likeness, isn’t it?” He was glad that he was standing behind a table, keeping his hands hidden from view.

 

Ronald gaped at him.  “Clone?” He didn’t notice that Ford was looking at Stan with a similar expression.

“Indeed.  Did you really think I didn’t have a backup plan in case some upstart came here and tried to steal my kingdom?”  He shook his head in mock disgust. “It’s not exactly a perfect replica, but enough that it can successfully pass for me, and even go to prison and give me time to think of an alternate strategy.”  He nearly reached up into his vest pocket for something that would complete the disguise, but he didn’t dare expose his hands just yet. “Now, I’ve already activated its self-destruct sequence, so if you don’t release it you are going to be very swiftly deposed.”  Geez, how could Ford stand talking like this all the time?

Ronald scoffed.  “This is a trick.  This is all a trick.”  But a faint tremble of doubt had entered his voice.

Stan, sensing that this was one of those minutes where a sucker was being born, went on, “Can you really afford to take that chance, Ronald?”  He let his lips curl in the same expression of distaste Ford used every time he said his rival’s name.

 

There was a long, tense moment of silence.  Stan racked his brains for a backup plan in case this one failed, feeling a drop of sweat trickle down his neck and snake its way under his collar.

Then, out of the blue, Ford began to jerk and shake about, eyes rolling back in his head and mouth going slack.

_Good job, Poindexter._

Ronald jumped back with a gasp of shock, and yanked a small control out of his pocket, hurriedly pressing it.  The cage dissipated at once.

“Deactivate it!  Deactivate it!” he cried pleadingly.

 

Stanley rushed over to behind his brother, pulling out a screwdriver and pretending to open a panel in his back with one hand.

The other hand did two things in one fluid motion.  First it snatched one of the smoke bombs from his shoulder belt, and hurled it to the ground; then, as the haze of smoke rose up around them, he hurriedly pulled out Vera and pointed her at the floor under their feet, turning her on.  He barely remembered to let out a pretend cry of horror and pain before they fell through the portal that opened.

* * *

 By the time the smoke cleared, both Stanford Pines and his clone had vanished without a trace.


	4. Snow excuses

Ford landed in the middle of a pile of snow.

It took him a few seconds to register what had happened, before he sat up and spluttered, already feeling the cold slush soaking through his clothes.

Behind him he registered Stanley pulling himself up, brushing snow out of his hair and stowing his portal gun back in its holster.  He staggered to his feet and took a look around.

 

All around them was nothing but snow and mountains.  In fact, currently they were standing at the foot of a particularly craggy mountain, unfortunately on the side that was being most buffeted by the wind at the moment.

Ford drew the quick conclusion that if they didn’t leave at once, they were going to freeze to death.

“We need to move to a new dimension!” he yelled over the howling wind.

“We can’t!” Stan yelled back.  “Vera needs to cool down for an hour after being used!”

Ford sighed.  Of course it did.  Wait. “...You named the gun Vera?”

“Yeah, so what?”  Stan was quickly zipping up his fleece jacket, and squinting up at the mountainside; then he pointed.

“There’s a cave up there!  Maybe we can find shelter!”

Ford was about to remind him of the possibility of predators or other unknown beings already inhabiting it, but then his brother extracted two different guns from his belt, tossing one to Ford, and began crunching through the snow towards the possible shelter.

“You know how to use that, right?”

Ford trudged after him in irritation.  “Of course I do!” Idly he noticed that “Carla” was written on the handle of the gun he was now holding, and a memory of a certain vivacious young woman with a fondness for purple hotpants flitted across his thoughts.

“Just making sure you’d been traveling long enough!”

Something about that last phrase struck Ford as a bit odd, but he didn’t have time to analyze it further.

* * *

 

The cave wasn’t much warmer than outside, but at least they were out of the wind.  And a brief search showed it to be unoccupied and not very big; it would suit their purposes for the time being.

After taking a moment to shake off the snow covering his back and shoulders, Stan dumped his equipment on the ground, and began digging through his pack.

“Wha-wha-what are you doing?” Ford asked through chattering teeth.

“Got some stuff that can-here.”  He pulled out a jar filled with sparkly blue rocks; he spilled a few out onto the ground, and pulled out his lighter.  As soon as he touched it to the rocks, a series of blue flames rose up.

Ford wasted no time in shuffling forward and eagerly drinking in the warmth that began to flow through his bones.  “Where’d you get these?”

“I found a dimension with a lotta dwarfs in it.  They specialized in working with all kinds of weird minerals.  Reminded me of your nerd game.”

Ford rolled his eyes.  “And you probably stole them, no doubt.”

Stan gave him a look.  “You know, Ford, there’s a saying about glass houses and stones that you oughta look up.”  He reached into a pocket of his vest, and extracted a sheet of paper which he unfolded and brandished.

 

It was one of Ford’s wanted posters, he realized after a moment.  Except for the small difference that somebody had scrawled a beard and mustache onto his face, and made his eyes big and googly.

Stanley looked briefly confused by his unimpressed expression, until he looked at the poster; instantly he reddened a little, and refolded the poster.

“It was like that when I found it.”

Somehow Ford wasn’t convinced.

“My point is,” Stan said as he pulled a small book out of his vest pocket and placed the poster back inside, “you’ve got no right to be pointing fingers, Poindexter.”

By then, though, Ford was no longer listening to him, because he was seeing what exactly that book  _ was _ , and realizing what the other two books in his other vest pockets must be, and feeling like he was about to explode from an entirely new level of horrified rage.

“ _ You brought my  _ JOURNALS _ with you?! _ ”

* * *

 

Even though he wouldn’t appreciate it being described that way, it came out as a very undignified screech.  Stan actually jerked back in surprise at the force of it, eyes wide. But then his jaw set, and he straightened up, shoving the journal back into his pocket.

“What did you want me to do with them?  You freaked out when I tried to burn one, and like h_ll I was just gonna leave them out so the triangle freak could use some other sucker to find them!  The safest place for them was with me!”

“No, the safest place for them was as far away as possible,  _ like I asked you to do in the first place! _ ”

“Oh yeah, because that would  _ definitely _ have solved all your problems!  It’s not like there’s a chance someone would eventually find them anyway, and the whole stupid mess woulda started up all over again!  Clearly you’d spent way too long without sleeping, because for you that was an unusually STUPID solution!”

Ford snarled.  “Don’t you dare, Stanley!  Don’t you  _ dare _ tell me that you know better than me how to deal with my own problems!  You have no right-”

Stan had stopped listening to him.  His gaze had darted to a spot over his shoulder, and he said in a warning tone, “Um, Ford-”

“Don’t interrupt me!  I haven’t finished with-”

“Ford, shut up!”

Then Stanley grabbed him by the shoulders and forcibly spun him around, allowing him to realize,  _ Oh _ .

They were no longer alone.

Three figures were standing at the mouth of the cave, watching them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really, really excited for this next chapter. Just to warn you, I'm going out of town from the 10th to the 21st, and I don't know if I'll be able to bring my laptop. If I can, I will get it posted on schedule, but try to be patient if I don't, okay?


	5. Three Weird Sisters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh, I couldn't wait. Like I said, I'm excited.  
> Also, I'm going to actually be at a family reunion, so I'll be expected to spend time with my siblings and small army of nieces and nephews, so I don't know when I'll be free to work on this. So might as well get it out now.  
> Hopefully making this chapter nice and long will help sustain you for the time being.

Three women, clothed in long, watersilk dresses that seemed very insufficient for the weather, stood hand in hand in hand at the entrance to the cave.

All of them had wavy dark hair winding around their shoulders, and narrow, pale faces.  The main difference between them seemed to be the color of their eyes: the one on the left’s were bright red, the middle’s were orange (and unusually clouded over), and the right’s were butterscotch yellow.

 

Ford wasted no time brandishing the gun in his hand at them.

“Who are you?!” he demanded.  “What do you want?!”

The woman with red eyes tilted her head and asked in a loud voice, “What?!”

Her sister (Stan assumed they were sisters) next to her rolled her clouded eyes, and then she did something truly strange: she reached up, and pulled off her left ear.

 

It’s not as gross as it sounds.  There was no blood or tearing flesh, no indication that she was even in pain.  Her ear came off with an odd sound that was somewhere between a click and a pop, and as best Stan could see through her thick hair it just left a tiny hole on the side of her head.

Then she reached over to her sister’s head and pulled off _her_ left ear, and switched it with hers.

Once the ears had clicked back into place on opposite heads, the woman in the middle said in a matter-of-fact tone, “He asked who we are, Hera.”

The woman on the left-Hera-asked, “Well, what did you tell them?”

“I haven’t had a chance to tell them anything, I’m busy getting you up to date!”

“Then hurry up!  We don’t have all day!”

The middle one put her hands on her hips.  “I haven’t even seen them yet. Gimme one of your eyes.”

“You always take my eyes!  Take one of Teller’s!”

The woman on the right, presumably Teller, gave them an annoyed look that went unnoticed.

“Your eyes are better!”

Hera gave an annoyed sigh, and then pulled out one of her eyes.

 

Again, there was no visible sign of injury; just a dark gap in her face.  She and her sister switched eyes, popping them back in like they did this all the time.  Then again, they probably did.

The middle sister blinked a few times, like she had just put in a contact lens, and then she groaned.

“You gave me your left eye, didn’t you?  I can tell, the perspective’s all off. Gimme your right one.”

“Just switch them, Cici!”

“I would still have two left eyes!” Cici argued.

“One of them’s blind, it doesn’t matter!”

“I’ll still know!”

Teller shoved Cici hard in the shoulder, making her smack into Hera.  Once she had their attention, she gestured to the two men pointedly.

Cici sighed after a second and then switched her eyes.

 

Once she focused on the twins again, her lips curved up into a smile.

“Oh my, I thought they both sounded cute, but they are just _edible_ , aren’t they?”

“I call the _hand_ -some one,” Hera purred, looking Ford up and down and raising her eyebrows.

Ford’s face turned the color of ketchup, and the hand not clutching the now-lowered gun slipped into his pants pocket.

Stan snorted a little.  Then he asked, putting on his best charmer smile, “What can we do for you ladies?”

All three of them burst into giggles.  “Cute _and_ a gentleman!” Cici squeaked.  “Can we take him home, please?”

Teller elbowed her with a silent laugh.

“No, you’re right, we need to focus.”  She cleared her throat. “We think we can help you find what you’re looking for.”

 

If Stan hadn’t been suspicious before, he definitely was now.  He kept his Mr. Mystery smile, though, and after giving Ford a warning glance when the hand still clutching the gun twitched, he asked, “What do you think we’re looking for?”

“A way to stop Bill Cipher,” Hera crooned, looking appropriately oracular.  “Something, or someone, that can help you in your quest to protect your world.”

“You mean like Jheselbraum the Unswerving?”  The question left his mouth before he could think about whether or not it was a good thing to say.  However, he hated the way they were looking at him, like they knew everything and he knew nothing, and wanted to prove that he had at least some idea about what their next move needed to be.  “Yeah, we know her. Oracle lady who put-”

“What?”  Ford nearly got whiplash twisting his head around to stare at him.  His eyes were surprised, and, Stan realized, confused.

 _Crap_.

 

This hardly seemed like the time or place, if there ever would be one, to tell Ford, “Oh, by the way, I traveled into this one dimension twenty-five or something years into the future where an older you told me about his-your-whatever adventures in the multiverse.  He said he met this one dame named Jheselbraum the Unswerving who told him about Bill and stuck a metal plate on his skull so the triangle couldn’t get in his mind again. That’s probably what you need to do too, and I might have just created some kind of paradox by letting you know about her, since it appears you haven’t met her yet.”

He swallowed.  “Just...someone I heard about through the grapevine.”

Ford’s eyes narrowed at him.  He was just starting to open his mouth when Hera said, “Oh, yeah, we know Jessie.  She’s a bit uptight all the time, but yes, she could certainly help you. Or you could just go into one of our neighboring dimensions and get the fuel you need for that fancy gun of yours right now so you can destroy Bill once and for all.”  She sounded the tiniest bit miffed; Stan guessed that these dames hadn’t counted on them already knowing about a potential solution.

“We know just the place where you can find it,” said Cici.  “If you want, we can help you.”

_Is the Paradox Dimension nearby or something?  That’s where the other Ford said the element is._

This time, however, Stan remembered to keep his thoughts to himself.  Instead he tilted his head with exaggerated interest. “Really? I’m-” he wracked his brain quickly for a word that would sound right- “intrigued.”

Then, to his horror, Ford opened his big mouth.  “We don’t need any mmph mmph mmph!”

“Excuse us for a moment, would you please?”  Stan half-shoved, half-dragged his twin towards the back of the cave, grabbing another small gadget out of his pocket and flipping it on; a small gray cube that, when activated, muffled their conversation to any eavesdropping ears.  Even ones that were interchangeable between different people.

* * *

Once he was satisfied it was on and powered up, Stan took his hand off Ford’s mouth.

“Look, I get it.  You don’t trust them because you’ve learned that if something _sounds_ too good to be true, it probably is.”

Ford, who had just been opening his mouth to utter exactly that kind of statement, felt a little cheated.  Again.

Stan gave him a tiny bit of a knowing smirk.  Then he said more seriously, “But even if we don’t agree to do whatever job or favor they wanna sucker us into doing, let’s not make them mad by refusing before we even find out what they want, okay?  If they can switch body parts like that, who knows what else they can do?”

To his own surprise, Ford felt his lips twitch treacherously upwards for a few seconds.  Then he glanced thoughtfully over Stan’s shoulder towards the three women.

They were standing around the fire now, warming their hands and murmuring softly to each other (except for Teller, who was just warming her hands; it appeared that while her sisters were deaf and blind, respectively, she was mute).  Hera glanced in their direction, and when she saw him watching them, she smiled and waved in a way that made his face feel warm again. He cleared his throat and turned back to his brother, who was somehow now the most comfortable person for him to look at in this cave.  Even though it appeared he was keeping more secrets from Ford than he’d let on; big surprise.

 

“Is your gun working yet?  We might need to escape quickly if things go south.”  Loath as he was to admit it, his twin had a point about it probably being safer to at least hear the women out, but that didn’t mean he was going to accept their proposal.

Stan shook his head.  “Needs another thirty minutes at least.  So if push comes to shove we might need to stall for time.”

Ford grimaced.  “Please tell me you’re still good at that.”

Stan looked a little hurt by the question.  “Of course I am, tr-” He bit down on his lip and pulled out the cube; Ford recognized it as a common piece of merchandise from some of the interdimensional bazaars he’d visited.

“...Were you about to say ‘trust me’?”

“No.”  Stan’s response was a little too quick.  Then he muttered, “I realized that would be asking for the impossible.”

Before Ford could think of a good response, he switched off the cube and approached their trio of visitors.

 

“Forgive my brother, he’s not used to having women talk to him for this long.  Especially not beautiful ones.”

Typical Stanley; deciding the best way to handle something supernatural was to flirt with it.

It was, admittedly, effective; the sisters simpered and giggled again, and Teller hid behind a lock of her hair, looking bashful.

Stan sat down cross-legged in front of the fire, and after a moment the women and Ford followed suit (the women somewhat more daintily).

“So,” Stan asked, “what’s your offer?”

 

Hera produced a map from somewhere in the folds of her dress.  It appeared to be of a large, forested area, with an enormous river running down the middle.

“This is the Dimension of Living Water, a nearby reality that’s almost completely uninhabited by anything but aquatic creatures, or creatures who live on the water.”

The description reminded Ford a little bit of the parallel earths he’d visited which were ruled by dolphins.

“In this part here,” she indicated the map, “this river eventually turns into a waterfall, which has a rich supply of the element you need behind it.  We think it was left there by smugglers from the Parallel Dimension years ago, and something happened so they were never able to reclaim it.”

“How do you know that’s what we need?” Ford asked, folding his arms.

“The same way we know-” she and Cici laced their fingers together briefly- “that you are Stanford and Stanley Pines, who just escaped from the Finger Dimension, and that a few seconds ago you were thinking about a water park run by dolphins that you went to last year.”  She grinned at his shock. “We’re from Dimension 52 originally, same as Jessie. Oracular stuff is kind of a thing there.”

“...That doesn’t prove anything, you’re just telling me what happened in the past!”

Hera sighed.  “ _I_ can see the past, Cici sees the present, and Teller sees the future.  And she knows that going to this dimension will give you what you’re looking for.”

 

“So what’s in it for you?” Stan asked suddenly.  “Why are you so eager to help us?”

The three sisters looked at each other and touched hands again; Ford suspected some kind of telepathic bond went on between them whenever they did that.  Then Cici said, “We would like you to find something else while you’re there. It’s a small, silver box, locked, without a key. It’s nothing that will hurt anyone, but it was stolen from m-from us long ago, and we want it back.”

“And,” Hera added, “if you do that for us, we’ll give you this.”  She beckoned to Teller, who pulled a small gold chain from around her neck.  Attached to it was what looked like a very small floppy disc.

“On this are the coordinates that will get you back to your own dimension.  That will get you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dum DUM DUMMM!!!!!!  
> ...Sorry, it just seems appropriate to use that whenever something big happens at the end of a chapter.


	6. You gotta have heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, turns out I was able to bring my laptop after all. Hallelujah, right?  
> So here's a (hopefully) nice reward for my patient, long-suffering readers.  
> Enjoy.

“...You just need to plug it into your gun, and it’ll open a portal right where you need to go.”

It definitely sounded too good to be true.

Stan forced himself to keep his expression neutral, hoping his eyes hadn’t given away how his heart was suddenly pounding in his chest.

“How do we know they’re genuine?” Ford asked, expression definitely more wary.

Teller held out the coordinates; briefly her sisters looked like they wanted to stop her, but Ford had already accepted the disc.

He frowned at it, turning it back and forth.  Then he looked over at Vera, which just so happened to have a tiny slot where a floppy disc-like guidance system could be inserted.

The Pines twins looked at each other.

And Stan handed over Vera with a nod.

* * *

 

Ford inserted the disc into the guidance system, and in examining the rest of the gun he figured out quickly how to start it up.  As he did, he couldn’t help marveling a little at the craftsmanship of the device. Oh, it was definitely somewhat...unorthodox in how it had been cobbled together, but somehow all the pieces blended in ways you wouldn’t expect just by looking at it.  He really wanted to meet whoever created this and shake his hand one day. And probably apologize for Stanley stealing it from him.

At the back there was a small computer screen which gave you the coordinates that the portal was opening into, and told you what dimension it was.  The technology, however, wasn’t quite sophisticated enough to control what your destination would be; to do that you needed outside coordinate input, like the kind that was being plugged in right now.  Otherwise it was all just a matter of trial and error.

 

Ford checked over the information, and rechecked it.  He couldn’t help a small rush of excitement; it did genuinely seem to be opening a portal back home!  Despite his primary goal of finding and destroying Bill, the chance that he could finally go home in the end, instead of probably dying somewhere in the multiverse, was suddenly very appealing.

And then, to his surprise, Stanley looked over his shoulder at the screen too.

“...What are you doing?” he asked.

Stan gave him a slightly annoyed look.  “Checking to make sure the figures are right.  Just like you’re doing.”

Ford was... a little taken aback.  He wasn’t used to Stan understanding things like this, instead of just leaving them to him to figure out.  Of course, his memories were probably more than a little biased, he could admit this even to himself, but-

Stan had tapped a few places on the screen, and was nodding and even smiling a little at the flow of information that was being revealed.

“These not only take us to our dimension, but they’ll send us right back into m-your basement!  Nice!”

_ He really does understand the calculations. _

But then a thought came to Ford, and he pulled the coordinates out of the gun, glaring at the three women suspiciously.

“What exactly do you want us to retrieve for you?”

 

They looked at each other uncomfortably.  Then Hera said, “It’s not important-”

“The heck it’s not!”  Ford, sensing the way his twin started to tense up behind him, forced himself to take a deep breath.  “Look. If you really have the type of psionic abilities you say you do, then you’ll understand that I am hesitant to trust unusual beings who want a favor from me.  I just want the truth. Please.”

Another private conference occurred, somewhat longer than the last one, before Cici said aloud, “The box contains my heart.  One of the smugglers stole it from me years ago.”

 

An awkward pause filled the cave for a second, before Stan said with a cough, “You’re just using that as a metaphor, right?”

Cici reached up and opened the front of her dress.  And neither of them had time to be embarrassed or interested, because the action also opened up a gaping hole in her chest.

Ford, once he got over his surprise, adjusted his glasses and leaned forward, marveling.  Not that he could see much there-even in the light from the fire, once again there was just a dark hole, without evidence of veins or lungs or the normal stuff you would expect to see in the chest cavity of a human body.  Nothing but a little chunk of ragged-looking flesh, throbbing gently in a steady rhythm…

Cici looked down at herself, at what Ford was seeing.  “My sisters have been taking turns splitting their hearts in half and sharing with me, to keep me alive.”  She raised her eyes back to them. “But it’s just not the same, trying to function when an important part of you is missing.”

For some reason, the two men were suddenly quite unable to look at each other.

She folded her chest back up; it closed seamlessly, even her dress.  “Our abilities are strong, but a sort of shield around the Dimension of Living Water makes us incapable of traveling there ourselves.  We think it’s something to do with our DNA being incompatible with that dimension or something. But we don’t know for sure. All we know is what Teller saw: that you are the only travelers here who seem like you could, or would, help us.”

* * *

 

At least they weren’t using excessive flattery or saying anything that seemed like it couldn’t be the truth; they’d also given him straightforward-sounding answers when he asked, and on the whole they didn’t give him any “bad vibes,” for want of a better description.  But Ford wasn’t  _ sure _ ; that was the frustrating part of this whole cursed scenario.  He’d made so many errors of judgment regarding people he thought he could trust before; why should now be any different?  Bill, Stanley, the people of the Finger Dimension, a few other people he’d encountered in the multiverse-

Out of the blue, Stan said, “I dunno about him, but I’ll do it.”

Ford shot him a look; he got one back.

He turned back to the women.  “Would you excuse us for a moment?  We need to have another brief discussion.”

 

“Have you lost your mind?!”  He barely waited until the cube was turned back on before letting the words burst out of him.  “You cannot be seriously about to go on a-a  _ quest _ for three people you’ve just met, who might be trying to trick you!”

“Who’s the better expert on knowing if people are lying, you or me?” Stan challenged, folding his arms.  “They’re pretty sincere about the whole heart-stealing thing, and on the whole this seems like our-your best chance to get your gun finished.  I’m not sayin’ you have ta get involved; I can do this on my own.”

“If this is your way of trying to goad me into coming with you-”

“I’m not trying to goad you into anything!”  Stan rolled his eyes at him. “I told you, I can handle it.  This kinda stuff is what I’m good at. No need for you ta help if you don’t think it seems like a good idea.”

Ford found his fists starting to clench.  “As you so eloquently pointed out, I’ve become rather good at ‘this kind of stuff’ too.  And if you think I’m letting you go on a potentially suicidal quest so  _ you _ can claim all the glory if you succeed, you have another thing coming!”

Stan made a noise of disbelief.  “You think this is about  _ glory _ ?!”

Well, no.  But it seemed better than admitting that the idea of Stan being the one to get the final materials  _ he _ needed for  _ his _ gun was making his insides crawl for some reason.  So all he said was, “...You’re not doing this by yourself; if you’re going, so am I!”

His brother looked...almost hurt for a second, before he glared again.  “Fine then!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

After a moment of just standing and glaring at each other, Stan pulled out the cube again and switched it off.  Then he and Ford turned back to the trio.

“We’ll do it.”

* * *

 

If any of them had tried to seal the deal with a handshake, Ford would not have been responsible for his actions.  Instead, with delight the women handed over the map of the river, along with a disc of coordinates to the Dimension of Living Water (they insisted on keeping the coordinates to Stan and Ford’s dimension until after they came back, as collateral).

“If you go to Dimension 3\I/21, which is really close by, you’ll find a good place to wash and change your clothes,” Cici said as the women walked back to the cave entrance.  “I’m sure you’ll feel a lot better if you do that.”

“Thanks,” Stan said.

Then, abruptly, Teller turned to Cici and tugged her shoulder.  Cici gave her a confused look, and she returned it by making her eyes big and pleading.

Cici sighed.  “ _ Fine _ .”  And she reached up and pulled her mouth off (again, it wasn’t as gruesome as they felt like it should be).  Teller followed suit, and they quickly switched. Then for the first time, Teller spoke.

 

It was Cici’s voice, but quieter and more shy than they’d heard it so far.

“...Um, hi.  It was really nice meeting both of you.”  She flushed a little. “I just wanted to warn you to watch out for bounty hunters.  There’s a lot of them after both of you right now.”

“Gosh, thanks.”  Stan gave her his most winning smile, and even had the audacity to wink at her.  She blushed even deeper, and hid behind a curtain of hair.

“When you get Cici’s heart,” said Hera (with a touch of jealousy in her voice), “just come back here, okay?  We’ll find you when you do, and let you have the other coordinates.”

And with that, the three of them vanished into the snow.

* * *

“...Well, that happened,” Stan finally said.  He went back to the fire, and sat down in front of it, rummaging around in his vest pockets until he produced a few somewhat-tasteless but at least edible food packets.  As Ford turned away from the entrance, Stan tossed him one of the packets.

Ford caught it with only a touch of surprise; his reflexes had gotten a lot better.  Satisfied that he recognized what it was and had only hesitated for a second before unwrapping it and starting to eat, Stan began the arduous process of removing all his guns from his body so he could clean them and work on whatever other maintenance they might need; he had a feeling he was going to need them all in the near future.  Carefully he laid each of them out when he finished: Carla, Vera, Beatrice, Marilyn, Ruby Jean…

“Are all your guns named after ex-girlfriends?”

Stan jumped at suddenly hearing his brother’s voice; the soothing work had made him actually forget about him for a little bit.  He glanced up at Ford, who had been pacing around the other side of the fire while he ate; he was now looking at the row of guns, head tilted.

Stan shrugged.  “Not all of them.”  He held up the gun he’d just started cleaning.  Written on the side in bold letters was the name “Caryn.”

Without meeting Ford’s eyes he lowered Caryn, going back to work.  After a minute he remembered to eat from his own food packet.

 

Once his guns had been taken care of, he crumpled the empty packet and tossed it onto the fire, and then sat back.

“I’ll take first watch if you want.”

Ford started to open his mouth.   
“If you say you’re fine and you don’t need sleep, I’m gonna point out just how much of a liar you are.  We oughta get at least a little rest before we leave, and you’ve been in a cramped dungeon for three weeks; you need sleep.”

Ford visibly bristled again...but then he sat down, and from there curled up with his back to the fire.

“Just for a few hours.”

“Kay.”

Slowly, Stan watched as his twin’s breaths evened out, and after a few more minutes he began snoring softly.  Once he was sure he really was asleep, he whispered a slightly forlorn, “Night, Ford.”


	7. Don't count your chicks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had some downtime lately, so I decided to get this next part out.

_**Six hours later** _

 

“I told you to wake me up after a few hours!”

Ford glared at Stanley in annoyance.  He’d just woken up a few minutes ago, and realized based on the faint lightening of the sky outside and how unusually refreshed his body felt that it was almost morning.  And Stan was still sitting up across from the fire, wide awake (albeit with a few shadows under his eyes).

“Technically, you never told me to wake you up,” Stan noted.  “And a few hours is-”

“You knew what I meant!”

He gave a tiny shrug.  “You looked like you needed it.  Besides, I got a lot of rest a few weeks ago, I’m fine.”

Ford stood up, looking even more disapproving of Stanley than he usually was as of late.  “You need to get some sleep, right now.”

Stan set his jaw.  “Or what, you’ll send me to my room?”

“Why are you being so difficult?!” Ford demanded.  “This is simple logic, Stanley-you need sleep just as much as I do if you want to be-”

“What?  _Worthwhile_ for once in my life?”

 

Ford swallowed, feeling his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat as he shoved down his anger.

“I just meant,” he said slowly, “that this job will be much easier if both of us are as much at our peak physical performance as possible.”

“Sure you did.”  But the fight seemed to have drained out of Stan as fast as it had come.  Slowly he lay down, curling up on his side with Vera cradled in the crook of his arms.  His eyes stayed open though, glinting in the firelight. Ford was just about to order him to go to sleep (as futile as such an act had always been), when he said softly, “If it makes you feel better, I took some precautions when I came through.”

Ford raised an eyebrow at him.

Undeterred, Stan went on, “I put up a barrier around the basement, and another one around the house.  So even if the triangle can use the portal to get in through a rift or whatever, he won’t be able to go anywhere or do anything.”

“What kind of barrier?”

“The one in your journal.”

Now Ford’s eyes widened a little.  “How did you manage to get ahold of unicorn hair?”

* * *

 

_Flashback flashback flashback_

 

“You are not pure of heart!!!!” Celesta-whatever wailed dramatically, tossing her mane back so it flowed in the wind.

“I coulda told you that,” Stan said, distinctly unimpressed.  But then he stopped short, and tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing a little.

The unicorn scratched the ground with one of her hooves uncertainly.  “What? What are you looking at?”

“N-nothing, nothing.  It’s-nothing.” Now a slight grimace of disgust made its way onto his face, and he chewed his lip, like he was trying his absolute hardest not to gag.

Celestabibble stamped her hoof.  “What’s the matter?!”

Stan winced.  “It’s just...it looks like you somehow got a big wad of gum in your hair.”

 

The effect was instantaneous.

“ _Gum_?!” the unicorn squealed, rearing back onto her hind legs and pawing the air in horror.  “NEEEEIIIIGGGGHHHH!!!!!”

Stan jumped back out of reach of the flailing hooves.  “Yeah, right towards the back there! It looks like it’s pretty stuck in, do you want to just cover it up and hope no one else will notice, maybe?”

“Get it out!  GET IT OUUUUT!!!!”  She lunged at him, grabbing his sleeve in her teeth and yanking him towards her, big purple eyes frantic.

“Okay, okay, just calm down!”  Stan carefully drew out the large pair of scissors he’d brought with him, and moved around until he was standing behind her.  “Now hold still please, if you keep jerking your head around I might make a mistake.”

Celestabelly stared straight ahead, trembling in narcissistic horror; Stan carefully took the enormous blob of pre-chewed gum that had been hidden in his hand, and after doing a brief mental calculation, smeared it into a long lock of mane, which he then cut free.  He then rearranged the rest of her mane so that it partially disguised the chopped-off part, like a professional hairdresser.

“There, that’s better.”  He walked around to where Celestaboring could see him, and held up the hair with the chunk of gum plainly visible.  “You want this?”

“Take it awayyyy!” she wailed, tossing her head.  “I never want to see it again!”

Stan shrugged.  “You’re the boss.”

 

_End of flashback end of flashback end of flashback_

* * *

 

“...I asked nicely.”

Oddly enough, Ford did not seem to believe him.  But his ruffled feathers seemed to have smoothed down a little, at least.  He sat down cross-legged, facing Stan, with the firelight in his glasses giving him a bona fide mad scientist look.

Stan stared back, gripping Vera tightly.  He knew Ford was right about it being a good idea for him to get some sleep...but he was hesitant to close his eyes.  A small, gnawing part of him was afraid that when he opened them, it would be to an empty cave, and finding out that he’d been left behind again.

“That was a good trick of yours with Ronald,” Ford said abruptly.  “You’re lucky he didn’t question in the heat of the moment how I would be able to install a self-destruct sequence on an apparently organic, flesh and blood clone.”

Stan gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes, forgetting the worry for a second; he could save the entire universe, and Ford would probably _still_ find something to criticize about it.  “Hey, if anyone could make one, it’d be you.”

Ford faltered, and gave a little “can’t argue with that” kind of shrug.

 

Silence reigned for a few minutes, save the crackling of the fire.

Stan watched Ford; he couldn’t see his brother’s eyes due to the lighting, but he figured he was lost in thought pondering the vast mysteries of the universe or whatever.  But then Ford said, “Get some sleep, Stanley.”

Something about his tone this time, maybe the fact that it sounded less like a command, had Stan’s eyelids fluttering closed at last.

* * *

The next time he regained consciousness, the fire was low, and as he sat up and wiped the grit from his eyes, he saw that aside from him, the cave was unoccupied.

Stan leaped up, a wave of heat rushing from his stomach to the back of his neck; he barely registered that Vera was still in his hands, as he stumbled in a blind panic towards the cave’s entrance, sticking his head out into the still-strong blizzard.

“FORD!”

The only answer he could hear was the howling wind.  For a moment he stood there numbly, not caring that his face was being pelted with cold snow that was soaking into his collar, a frantic _No No No No No_ ringing through his head-

A shivering figure materialized out of the corner of his eye, stepping inside the cave and rushing towards the fire.

Stan whirled on him, the numbness quickly switching into fiery anger.  “Where were you?!”

Ford jerked his head around, squinting at him through his fogged-up glasses.  “J-j-just around the c-c-c-corner; I had t-t-t-to...you know.”

Stan blinked.  Then the meaning became clear to him, and he scowled.

“Oh for cripes’ sake!”

He stomped out of the cave, Vera still firmly clutched in his arms.

 

It turned out there was a small outcropping around the corner, more or less out of the wind, just right for tending to his business.  He did so quickly, and hurried back inside.

Ford had built up the fire while he was gone, he noticed; he took a moment to defrost, and then scooped up some snow from the entrance to put it out, gathering the stones back into their jar and stowing them in his vest pocket.  Then he looked back at his brother.

He was standing there, quantum destabilizer slung across his back and hands in pockets, waiting patiently.

“Ready to get going?” Stan asked, as he retrieved his scattered guns and began holstering them.

Ford nodded.

Without further ado, he moved over next to his twin and turned on Vera, opening up another portal.

* * *

They couldn’t have ended up in a location more radically different from the previous one if they’d tried.

This dimension, which according to Vera was the one Cici had suggested-Dimension 3\I/21-contained a bustling metropolis they’d just appeared on a street corner of.  It was loud, crowded, and full of traffic. Even better, it was _warm_ : they had only been there for thirty seconds and already Stan was unzipping and shrugging out of his old fleece jacket, letting out a sigh of relief.

In some ways it looked like a city from their world, maybe Las Vegas or something, with big buildings covered in fluorescent-looking lights, crowds of people and vehicles everywhere, street vendors trying to foist their cheap junk and greasy food onto passersby.  It even had a lot of the same smells. There were some differences, though; despite the fancy technology that was in evidence, the clothes people wore were a unique blend of medieval and futuristic, chainmail and leather tunics rubbing shoulders with tight black leather boots and T-shirts with logos and cheesy jokes splayed across them.  A horse and cart clopped past, with some kind of souped-up motorcycle and a few cars in its wake. And across the street, a sign for a tattoo parlor was prominently displayed right next to a blacksmith forge.

 

“Nice place,” Stan commented, reholstering Vera and letting his eyes wander in apparently aimless directions.

“See a good spot to get cleaned up?” he asked.

Ford tilted his head so he could see around a large group of soldiers trooping down the street, and pointed.

“That seems like a good bet.”

Stan looked in the same direction, and grimaced in disgust: it appeared to be the entrance to a public swimming pool.

“Yeah, nothing like getting into a moist tub with strangers.  Just gimme a second to hold in my excitement.”

Ford rolled his eyes at him.  “I was thinking we could just use the showers.  Do you have a better idea?”

“Steal off a clothesline somewhere and don’t worry about the rest of our appearance.”

For a moment Ford looked disturbingly like he was trying not to laugh.  But then he turned and headed for the pool’s locker room. And with a shrug Stan followed after him.

 

It wasn’t that terrible, as it turned out; the locker was a lot less crowded than he’d expected, but nobody gave them a second look when they wandered in and took turns using one of the showers (so at least one of them was keeping an eye on their stuff).

He even managed to raid a couple lockers after they’d gotten rid of all the dirt and muck and slug slime, finding them some clean clothes.

To his surprise, Ford didn’t bother asking where the clothes had come from or even express disapproval at their being obviously stolen; he just took the ones he was offered into one of the stalls and changed quickly.

Stan had to smother a guffaw into his sleeve when he saw his brother again.

Ford fiddled with his new collar, turning it all the way up and finally giving Stan that disapproving stare.  “Really?”

This was because Stan had been unable to resist grabbing him a long, dark blue, very medieval-looking tunic, and some black leggings that were tucked into mid-calf boots; the overall effect made him look just like a character from D, D & D, except for the glasses.

Stan, who had just grabbed some jeans and a white T-shirt (keeping the vest and jacket after giving them a thorough scrubbing), snickered again.  “I couldn’t help it, they were just so you. I dunno what you’re complaining about, you probably drew pictures of yourself looking like that in high school.”

“...You’re lucky we can’t afford to be picky.”  Ford ran his fingers through his wet hair and stalked past him towards the locker room exit.

 

Stan also ‘acquired’ some food and a few other handy supplies, and some knapsacks to put them in.  The sisters had been unable to determine exactly where the waterfall was, only able to provide coordinates that were about a week’s journey away if they traveled on the water; it seemed best to have a surplus of necessities on hand just in case.

By the time he’d picked up some extra bandages and medicines from a few stalls, it was safe to use Vera again, so he went in search of Ford, who he’d left examining a display of electronic thingies in the center of the square.

 

Oddly enough, Stan kept thinking that this whole situation...was almost like old times.  Just the two of them getting in trouble together, albeit on a far grander scale than anything they’d done before.  On a big adventure, while trying to avoid bullies and only having each other to look after them-

_Don’t kid yourself, Stanley boy.  You know better than to get your hopes up._

Just because Ford was insisting on coming with him, and hadn’t tried to leave him while he was sleeping, he couldn’t afford to make assumptions about anything.  It would just crush him more when reality reasserted itself-

He was being watched.

* * *

 

Outwardly calm, Stan pretended not to see the tall figure in the long black coat watching him from behind a fruit stall.  Whoever he was, he must have watched too many spy movies as a kid and confused them with real life, because Stan would have spotted him even before his time on the streets and in the multiverse.

_Looks like a bounty hunter.  And since he looks like one, he’s either not a very good one, or one that’s too good._

_Where’s Ford?_

He pushed his way through a crowd that had suddenly appeared in his way to the middle of the square; to his relief, Ford was purposefully walking towards him, eyes equally wary.

“Bounty hunter?” he asked as they met in the middle.

Stan nodded.  “I saw Secret Agent Man over there.”  He nodded his head slightly towards the aforesaid Secret Agent Man.  “Anymore?”

Ford nodded.  “At least one behind us.  He appears to be from Dimensions 466/V-”

“It doesn’t matter where he's from!  Let’s just get out of here!”

Without considering the wisdom of the action one way or the other, he seized Ford’s sleeve and half dragged him towards a secluded corner of the square, where hopefully they could use Vera without accidentally pulling in anyone else, and have a good vantage point if they needed it.

 

The plan, in his mind, was very simple: open a portal and jump in, maybe taking a second to thumb his nose at the jerks before they disappeared.

To his annoyance, Ford started trying to pull away from him as soon as he recovered from his initial shock.

“Stanley, wait a minute!”

“For what?!”  _Now who’s being difficult?_   “This is not the time for your stupid love of complex plans, Poindexter!”  He lifted Vera, turning her on and pointing at the nearest wall. “We need to-”

The gun’s light died away, as did the hum meaning her circuits had turned on.  He jiggled her a few times fruitlessly.

“As I was saying,” Ford said in a voice dripping acidity, “the people of Dimension 466/V have the ability to temporarily neutralize all technological equipment in their presence.”

Behind them, a loud voice bellowed, “STANFORD PINES!”


	8. Street Fighters

Slowly the two men turned, answering simultaneously, “Yes?”

Ford narrowed his eyes at Stan, who pretended not to notice.  It wasn’t that hard, considering how distracting the pair of uglies now standing in front of them was.

One of them, the joker in the black coat, removed it now to reveal that he looked like some kind of mutant warthog mixed with a porcupine.  He had a big flat snout and two nasty-looking tusks jutting up from his lower jaw, and floppy ears on either side of an ugly crew cut; but then, sprouting from his arms (which were bare) and sticking out through the back of his shirt were hundreds of long, sharp-looking quills.  The bounty hunter’s skin was bright aqua, and his red piggy eyes stared at them over the tops of some extremely tacky sunglasses. He was built like a manotaur, except with less hair and more quills, which clicked and rattled together in the breeze.

 

The other hunter stood beside him; he didn’t even come up to his shoulder.  He had a hood partially concealing his face, but Stan could make out electric blue, slimy-looking skin and a thin-lipped mouth that kind of reminded him of a salamander.  His hands only had three fingers, and the tips were big and rounded, giving him even more of an amphibious appearance. He also kept shifting from foot to foot, acting like he had “St. Vitus’s Dance,” as their dad would have put it.

 

Both bounty hunters were suddenly very confused.

“Wait, which one’s the real Stanford Pines?” asked the pigupine.

Stan didn’t hesitate.  “That’s me.”

“Stan!” Ford hissed, jabbing an elbow into his ribs.  He just shoved him back.

Piggy snorted.  “The one on the right looks more like his picture-”

_ “No, wait a minute,” _ hissed Lizard Boy, in a deeper voice than Stan had expected.   _ “Look at the poster my employers gave me.” _   He pushed a button on his wrist, and a hologram appeared of a wanted poster for Stanford Pines.  And Stan’s face was clearly the one displayed in the picture.

 

Stan didn’t look at Ford.  He was about to go for the clone excuse again, or maybe try calling Ford an android (with his personality, they’d believe it in a heartbeat), or come up with some other kind of a bluff-when Pigupine’s eyes narrowed.

“Wait a second…”

He took a heavy step closer to them, forcing them to back up further into the alley.  “What if we’ve got the wrong end of the stick here?”

_ “Meaning what?” _ asked Lizard Boy.

“Meaning,” he was starting to brighten, lips curving up into a grin, “that there’s actually two versions of Stanford Pines!”

_ Great.  Just perfect. _

 

“I bet we can get double the reward money if we turn them both in!”  He gleefully produced an object that looked something like a cattle prod, only with a series of clawlike pincers on the end.

_ “We better not mix up which one goes to which part of the multiverse, though,” _ Lizard Boy pointed out, lifting his hands; they began to drip with some kind of really sticky-looking liquid.   _ “Different people want them for different reasons-” _

Stan gasped, and pointed dramatically.  “Look!”

Neither of the bounty hunters looked impressed.   _ “Did you really expect us to fall for that?” _ Lizard Boy demanded.

“No, I was just giving you a chance to protect your eyes.”  A second later, he hurled three smoke bombs at once into their faces.

 

They were better bounty hunters than he’d wanted; he and Ford managed to dodge around them into the haze of smoke, but they weren’t even out of the alley before Lizard Boy had recovered and was leaping into their path, arms spreading out to block their path.

Stan pulled out Marilyn (who next to Vera was his biggest, most durable gun), gripping her by the barrel and handle.

Lizard Boy laughed gleefully.   _ “Go ahead, try and shoot me with that.  It’ll be about as effective as-!” _

Stan didn’t give him a chance to say what it would be as effective as; he fully transferred his hands to Marilyn’s barrel, and swung her like a bat.  She connected with Lizard Boy’s chin, making a satisfying  _ crunch _ noise and sending him flying; then they were out in the square, sprinting because their lives kind of literally depended on it.

* * *

“Is there a certain distance we need to get or something to get Vera working again?” he demanded, dodging around an applecart (or at least some kind of fruit that looked a little like apples) and managing to pocket some of the goods without breaking his stride.

“It’s-more complicated than that!”  Ford spun around on one foot to avoid a group of gnomish men, forcing him to stumble against an old woman instead; she barely managed to keep her footing by leaning against a building, but whacked him in the shins with her cane, nearly knocking him down if not for his brother grabbing the front of his tunic and tugging him along.

“Watch where you’re running, you young hooligans!”

“Sorry!” he managed to call back to her, ignoring the loud snort from Stan.  They ducked and weaved, not looking back because they didn’t have to, they knew the bounty hunters would already be chasing after them, they just shoved their way into a crowd, and then, seeing the opportunity, dove behind a nearby parked car.

 

“I’m pretty sure that the blue one managed to absorb the energy from all our weapons, and he’s capable of absorbing any fresh energy if they manage to start recharging.”  Ford peered around the corner, and growled in soft irritation when he saw their pursuers striding purposefully across the square, straight for the car.

“Well, is there a way we can, y’know, short him out or something?”

Ford paused, wracking his brain quickly to see if that was possible.

“Maybe, if we can find a large enough water source-”

In almost unison, they whispered, “The pool!”

* * *

It was funny, Ford couldn’t help musing to himself in the back of his mind as they hurriedly whispered out a plan.  This felt almost like one of their old adventures, except with bigger stakes than just being grounded for the rest of the summer or getting harassed by Crampelter and his goons.

 

A minute later Stan rolled out from the side of the car with a wild yell, hurling a loose dirt clod from the ground at the pigupine man.  Before it reached him, he flexed his arm; a cluster of quills shot out of it, and neatly speared the stone, shattering it into broken pebbles and dust.

Undeterred, Stan bellowed, “Hey Porky!  You wanna try ta bring me in, you’re gonna have ta do better than that, ya overgrown shishkebab!”  He made a gesture that was more or less universally understandable, and smashed through the nearest door.

Porky let out a squeal of rage, and lifting his cattle prod, went chasing after him, knocking over the same old woman from before.

She shook her cane at him.  “Blasted young people!”

 

The lizard, meanwhile, had slinked up to the car, ready to attack.  He licked his slimy lips in anticipation, and charged around to the side facing the curb-but Ford was already gone.

While the hunters had been distracted by Stan, the other Pines twin crept away, pushing through the crowd towards the pool area.  He rushed towards the locker room-only to be seized by the collar and lifted into the air just as he stepped through the doorway.

“YOU!”  A very angry, chisel-jawed man wearing just a towel around his waist seethed at him.  “So you’re the one who pillaged my locker, you glasses-wearing villain!”

Inwardly, Ford cursed.  Outwardly, he struggled to breathe and to free himself, doubling his efforts at the sound of wet, slimy footsteps coming after him.

“Sir-as much as I would love to stay and-find some way to recompense you for your clothes-” he gave a terrific squirm- “I am a little busy right now, so if you would please-”

The angry man looked past his shoulder, and his eyes widened in shock and alarm.  Ford took advantage of his hand loosening on his collar to grab his wrist and twist, working himself the rest of the way free, and shoved him into the wall, bolting into the locker room.  He dodged between the enormous rows of lockers, hoping faintly that the bounty hunter would leave the angry man alone; he was just an innocent bystander, after all, who had been grievously wronged by them.

That didn’t mean he was going to give the clothes back, though.

* * *

Stan crashed through the wall into the street behind it, in a shower of rubble and dishes, since the building he’d run into had turned out to be some kind of a restaurant and he’d come out through the kitchen.  He tucked and rolled, narrowly dodging an onslaught of quills that were fired after him. As Porky stomped through the hole in the wall, generating a fresh set of quills in his arm and blowing clouds of steam through his snout, his face suddenly met a cast-iron frying pan, followed by a whisk, three wooden spoons, and some kind of implement Stan had never heard of.

With a squeal of fury the pigupine snatched up his cattle prod and pointed it at Stan, pressing a button; a pulse of electric energy shot out at him, and he barely managed to dodge it.

 

“You know,” Porky growled, “there’s quite a few dimensions that actually want you alive.  If you stop fighting me and come quietly, maybe I’ll take you to one of them instead of to the ones who want your hide to nail on the wall!”

“Nice deal,” Stan said without missing a beat.  “I got a better one, though: leave now, and I’ll let you keep both your kneecaps.”

Porky snarled again, and rushed him, whirling the weapon like a mace and chain or something.

 

Despite the situation, Stan felt himself grinning savagely as he pulled out one of his other weapons, since the guns weren’t working right now: a big, thick wrench he’d snatched from the blacksmith’s shop.

This was his kind of fight: dirty, and with all the odds against him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine the angry man as sounding something like Gizmoduck from the original Darkwing Duck series, if any of you have seen that. If not, you can find clips of him on Youtube (ain't modern technology great?). And Porky sounds like Muscle Man from Regular Show, right down to the enraged squealing noise (again, he's on Youtube).  
> Haven't decided about Lizard Boy yet.  
> Also, just go with the fact that a blacksmith would have a wrench for some reason. Maybe he doubles as a mechanic or something.


	9. Getting to the point already

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains a fighting scene. I don't feel like I'm that good at writing those, so please forgive me. If you can.

Ford’s thoughts ran a mile a minute, making calculations, amending, double-checking, resolving.

This was when his brain worked best: under pressure, with the odds stacked against him.  He couldn’t help a spark of elation as his ears caught the sounds of pursuit.

He found a loose thread on one of his sleeves, and after pulling it straight, bit through it; he then slipped up to one of the taller lockers, and stuck it quickly into one of the holes in the door.

Since his opponent was probably a reasonably skilled bounty hunter, he would suspect that the thread had just been planted there to lure him off the trail; however, also because he was a reasonably skilled bounty hunter, he couldn’t afford not to check on the off-chance that Ford was hiding inside in anticipation that he would suspect a plant and therefore leave the locker alone.

**(If your head’s starting to hurt, don’t worry-mine is too.)**

Anyway, Ford slipped away, ears straining for the sound of footsteps, occasionally looking up at the ceiling just in case the lizard man was capable of climbing the walls, until he ducked down behind a new row of lockers, thoughts racing again.

_Is he more likely to expect me to run and hide, or try to fight?  He had a wanted poster with Stan’s face on it, but I don’t know if that means he’s drawn any positive conclusions about Stan’s personality that I can use to my advantage, I need more data-_

 

A crash from the other side of the room jolted him back into action; carefully he peered around the corner.

The lizard man had forced open the locker Ford had decoyed, and was peering inside for a moment before moving on to the next one.  His method of opening them, he noticed, was by placing his hand over the lock for a minute; when he lifted his hand, all that was left was a small hole in the door.

_Whatever substance is covering his hands; of course._

Ford grimaced, wishing their guns were functional so he could take him out from a distance.

 

Taking advantage of the sound of another locker crashing open, he crept towards the entrance to the pool area; hopefully once the lizard realized he wasn’t in any of the lockers, he would draw the logical conclusion and go towards it.

He was ten feet away...five...four...

The lizard man landed in front of him.

 _“Going somewhere?”_ he demanded.

Ford swung his fist, doing his best to remember everything he’d learned in boxing class, aiming for the creature’s jaw for a quick knock-out.  The lizard, though, dodged the blow effortlessly, and the punch that followed it, weaving around him with a smug smile and then lashing out himself.  Ford barely managed to jump back, away from the acidic material covering his hands, and finally landed a blow-a kick that hit the lizard man in the midriff, throwing him back against the wall for a second.

Ford didn’t get so much as a chance to catch his breath, however; seconds later the lizard man was straightening up, rage in his glittering eyes (which he could see now in the shadows of his hoodie), and rushing at him again.  But he stayed more or less unfazed; one of the few benefits he attributed to being sucked through that portal was a vast improvement in his self-defense skills.

 

For several minutes the two opponents wove back and forth through the locker room, striking and dodging and swiping at each other in a grotesque parody of dancing.

And then, as he dodged again, Ford’s foot slipped in a puddle of water, and he crashed to the floor; his head cracked against the tiles, and sparks flew in front of his eyes.

For a moment, all Ford wanted to do was lie there and go to sleep; but something in him forced his eyes open again, and he saw the hunter pulling a set of chains out of his pocket; clearly he intended to take him alive.

_I don’t think so!_

With a herculean effort Ford forced himself to sit up, scooting back until he could feel the damp wall behind him.  The lizard gave him a disinterested look; he had his prey cornered now, it wouldn’t matter what he did.

Except, of course, that the reason why everything was so wet all of a sudden was because he was in a shower stall.  And just behind Ford’s hand was the faucet to turn on the water.

 

It was lucky for Ford that the lizard man was standing just outside the stall; as the jet of water smashed into him, it, well…

Have you ever seen one of those movies where a toaster or some other electric appliance gets dropped into water, and lots of sparks and electric currents show up everywhere?

Imagine that, except it’s happening to a person.

It’s not very pretty.

 

After about thirty seconds Ford turned off the shower.  Slowly he pulled himself up, rubbing the back of his head; when he pulled his hand back into view, he saw that some of the dampness was red.

Great.

But at least this time he wouldn’t have to try to patch it up himself; he had someone else around to help him.  Even if it was-

For the first time in a long while, his thoughts didn’t go in a completely negative direction when referring to Stanley.  Instead, they just addressed him as, “someone who Ford had a very complicated relationship with at the moment.”

Stepping out of the shower on shaky legs, Ford reached into his tunic’s pocket and pulled out a handkerchief with the initials H.B. on it; he briefly turned on the shower again to get it wet, and then pressed it against the wound on his head, hoping that A) the handkerchief was sanitary, and B) he didn’t have a concussion or something.

 

He also decided to go see how Stanley was holding up.

* * *

Stanley had a black eye, a split lip, and a series of new cuts and bruises to remember Porky by.

It had been a while since he’d been able to cut loose like this, fighting someone who was on his level; he was enjoying it while it lasted.

He hoped Ford was doing okay; the nerd had learned a thing or two about fighting, according to the one he’d met in the other dimension, but still.

As he had promised, when Porky charged at him again he dodged aside like a bullfighter, and swung the wrench right into his kneecap.  It gave off a very satisfying _crack_ , sending him thudding to the ground.

Giving the wrench a twirl between his fingers, Stan smashed it into the side of his head, knocking him flat onto the cobblestones.

At the risk of sounding like a Bond villain, he gave a smug “Lights out,” before bending down and going through Porky’s pockets.

 

He found some cash, and something that looked a little like fried worms; the latter he left where it was, and the former he pocketed (is anyone surprised?).

As Stan straightened up, he saw Ford stumbling towards him, and rushed over.

“You got him?” he asked, assessing his brother’s injuries quietly as he did.

Ford nodded, and held up the gun Stan had given him just in case-Caryn.  Her core was glowing just like she was supposed to, good as new.

Stan unhooked Vera, and handed her to Ford, who had the coordinates to the Living Water Dimension.  “Fire her up, wouldya?”

Ford was just doing so, when Stan heard a loud, familiar whistling noise in the air.

It was a sound he’d heard a lot in the past ten minutes or whatever it was, and as he looked up, sure enough, he saw its source: a line of long, sharp quills soaring through the air-Right.  Towards. His brother.

Stan didn’t hesitate even a second; he leaped forward, shoving Ford to safety just in time.

 

Then a sharp, burning pain was spearing through his arm and shoulder and grazing his ear-and suddenly it was like all Stan’s muscles locked up at once, he couldn’t move, he was pitching forward, unable even to stop his face from smashing into the ground, and Moses that was gonna leave a mark.

Stan could feel blood leaking from his nose now, and it felt like another cut had opened on his already-scarred cheek, but then a heavy booted foot was digging into his stomach and flipping him over.

Porky had clearly had a harder skull than Stan thought, along with a lot more stamina; he was glaring down at Stan, putting most of his weight on his uninjured leg but still standing strong, and clutching the cattle prod thingy in one slightly bloody hand.  He pointed it right at Stan’s head, the end pulsing and crackling, and Stan barely had time to realize that oh _bleep_ , the bounty hunter was about to kill him without even doing a dramatic one-liner-

Right before there was a loud zapping noise, and Porky exploded into an enormous pile of blue-green glop.

 

_Wha-?_

Ford stepped into his line of sight, the hand which clutched Caryn trembling slightly.  He bent down and grabbed Stan up, wrapping his uninjured arm around his shoulders before reholstering Caryn and opening a portal with Vera.

* * *

They rematerialized on a dirt road, in the middle of a rainstorm.

Ford struggled to hold up his brother’s dead weight and juggle all the other things they were holding onto, and to look for some kind of shelter at the same time.

Off to their left he saw a grove of trees; hurriedly he half-dragged Stan towards them, only depositing him when they were somewhat sheltered from the rain.

Unfortunately, they were both already soaked through by the time they got there.  Ford sighed, and bent down to look through Stan’s pockets for the fire rocks.

Seeming to sense his intentions, Stan lifted one shaking hand, and pointed to the right one.

“Your muscles are becoming unparalyzed; good.”  Ford found Stan’s lighter and soon had a small, warm fire crackling next to them.  “The quills must be covered with some kind of a temporary paralytic neurotoxin at the tips or something; no wonder he decided to be a bounty hunter, that ability is probably in high demand in their business because it can lead to temporary incapacitation of-”

He stopped his spiel when he saw the look Stan was giving him.

 

It wasn’t annoyance at his assessment of their enemy, or boredom.

Of all things, he was giving him a look that seemed kind of...bewildered.

“What?” Ford demanded tersely.

“...You saved me.”

Something about the utter confusion and disbelief in his brother’s tone sparked Ford’s anger further, and he asked in an irritated voice, “What, did you expect me to just _leave_ you there?”

The only reply was a disturbingly loud silence.

“...Stanley?”

More silence.

“Stanley!”

Stan had stopped looking at him.  “Have you given me any reason to believe that you wouldn’t?”

Shakily he pulled himself up into a sitting position, and turned away from Ford.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you treat someone like crap for long enough, either you'll break their spirit altogether, or they'll start biting back.
> 
> ...I'm sorry? Sort of.


	10. So Close

_That-_

_I-_

Just how much of a cold-blooded monster did Stan think he was?!

Well, obviously he thought he was enough of one to abandon him to die at the hands of a bounty hunter.

Ford was surprised by how much that hurt.  And the little voice in the back of his head whispering that maybe Stan was somewhat justified in thinking that Ford cared so little for him was not making him feel any better.

For a moment all he could do was stand there, aghast, staring at his twin.  Who, slowly, with hands that may have regained their mobility but were still shaky and uncoordinated, was reaching into his pack and pulling out a pair of pliers which he must have picked up from somewhere.  In far more time than it should have taken him, Ford realized what Stan was doing: he took them in his left hand, and began trying to pull out one of the quills embedded in his arm.

 

With an annoyed sigh Ford stepped forward and bent down to take the pliers.  Stan jerked away as soon as his hand closed around them, nearly falling over in his attempt to pull loose.

“Stanley, don’t be stupid; you’re just going to make it worse if you try to do it by yourself!” Ford protested, grabbing for the pliers again.

“Wow, try and be a little more condescending, I almost have some self-esteem left!” Stan spat at him.

“I _want_ to-”  Ford stopped himself, and managed to take a few calming breaths before amending,  “I would _like_ to help.”  He paused, and then added a soft, “Please.”

Stan gave him a long, hard stare for a few seconds, while the fire crackled and the rain pattered down through the trees.  Then, finally, he surrendered the pliers.

 

Ford worked quickly, trying to be as gentle as he could get away with in pulling the quills out, but knowing that he couldn’t afford to be all that gentle under the circumstances, and praying that none of them were nicking any major veins or arteries.

Stan didn’t protest, not once; in fact, aside from occasional small grunts and a whitening of his knuckles when his hands tightened from where they were gripping his knees, he didn’t give any indication that he was in pain.

When the last one was pulled free, Ford helped Stan pull off his red fleece jacket and vest (both of which were all torn up on one side now), and then cut free the remains of his new T-shirt so he would be better able to tend the wounds on Stan’s shoulder.

Thankfully they had both somehow held on to their new knapsacks and the contents therein, and they included medical supplies.  Ford sorted out the ones he needed, and got started cleaning and bandaging the wounds. He started with the shoulder-and gulped.

 

One of them, he noticed, had hit the burn mark.  Specifically, it had gone right through the circle part, in a perfect bullseye.

Ford brushed his fingers over the edge of the-yes, technically you could refer to it as a brand-the _brand_ without really thinking about it.  Stan’s back stiffened a little, but he didn’t try to stop him.

“...You’re lucky none of these went in deeper,” Ford said at last, clearing his throat and getting back to work.  “One of them could have pierced your lung if it went in deep enough.”

“Mmm.”

* * *

 

Silence lasted for a minute or two, before Ford spoke again.

“It wasn’t just my project.”

Stan didn’t say anything.

“It was how you reacted when I confronted you.  You-you acted like it was no big deal and we were just going to sail away together after-”  He swallowed, forcing himself to calm down. Stan had said he was sorry. “The chance to get into that school was really important to me, and you acted like you didn’t care at all about my feelings or what I wanted.”

“Well, it’s not like you ever told me-!”  It was Stan’s turn to stop and swallow. “No, you’re right, that was stupid of me.  I shouldn’t have acted like that, I shouldn’t have even gone near your project, I shoulda done somethin’ different.”  His tone when he spoke next was sharp with bitterness. “But I’m _really_ sure I deserved to spend the next _ten years_ being punished for it.”  His hands clenched again, trembling.  “Nobody wants to hire a high school drop-out who lives in his car for any kind of decent work, especially not anything that will help him make ‘millions.’”

“I thought you were going to come back!”

 

The sentence burst out of Ford before he could think to hold it in.

“Mom and I, we were both sure that at some point you’d come back and admit you’d screwed up, and maybe Pa would have cooled down enough to-”

Stan interrupted with a disgusted noise.  “Yeah, ‘cause I had _so much_ incentive to think I could ever go back.”

Ford focused for a few seconds on cleaning out a particularly deep hole in Stan’s arm to gather his thoughts.  Again, the fact that Stan was saying the truth didn’t make him feel any better. Finally, though, he asked, “You really thought one big fight would be enough to make me stop caring about you and never want to see you again?”

“You closed the curtains right in my _face_ , Ford.  And you never once tried to find out where I was for ten years until you needed an errand boy.”

“The door swings both ways, Stanley!”  Forget being calm, the frustration came spilling out in a fresh wave.  “You never tried to contact me either!”

“Yes I did-!”

 

“...What?” Ford asked.

“Nothing,” Stan replied a little too quickly.

But already, a flash of intuition had stirred to life in Ford’s brain.

“Sometimes,” he said slowly, “I would get these phone calls.  Calls where I would answer, and a few seconds later the caller would hang up without speaking.”

His brother said nothing, which was a confession in itself.

“...Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Take a guess, Ford.”  Stan’s voice was suddenly very defeated-sounding.

Again, the intuition supplied an answer that Ford really didn’t like, but had to be the truth.  “You didn’t think I would want to talk to you. You were afraid I would reject you again.”

“Go to the head of the class.  Same as usual.”

 

Stan plowed on a few seconds later.  “Besides, I saw what’s in your journals.  You crossed out almost every time you mentioned me, except the ones in code and the last one, where you said I was the least trustworthy person you know, and that ‘perhaps I could yet prove my worth to you.’”

Ford flinched; he had experienced what it was like to have his own words thrown back at him before, but it had not been for a long time.  It stung.

“...In my defense, when I wrote that entry I wasn’t quite in my right mind at the time,” he offered weakly.  He wound a fresh bandage around part of Stan’s arm. “And...I was upset that everything had fallen apart between us like that, and told myself that since you obviously didn’t care for me anymore, I would try not to care for you either.  I tried never to think about you again, since you hated me so much-”

Another derisive snort interrupted his words.

“It would probably be a lot easier if I _did_ hate you,” Stan said.  “Instead of just always feeling…”  He struggled for the right words.

“Ripped in half?” Ford offered after a little bit.

“...Yeah.”  Stan gave a tiny nod.  “Ripped in half.”

 

Ford had finished his work, so he straightened up, and used some rainwater and a little disinfectant wipe (some things are truly universal) to clean off his hands.  When he finished, he returned to the sheltered area. Then, with only a little hesitation, he reached into the inner pocket of his tunic and unfolded the photo which he had somehow held onto after all this time.  He passed it to Stan, who started a little, and then stared down at it.

“Does this help?” Ford asked.

“With what?”

“With proving that-that no matter how mad I was-am, I would never have just-I saw you were in danger from the bounty hunter, and I didn’t think about anything but stopping him from hurting you.  I wouldn’t have left you to that. Does this help?”

Stan stared at the photo of them as boys, thumbing the corner, and eventually shrugged and handed it back.

Ford’s stomach twisted.  It wasn’t a no, but that didn’t make it a yes either.

* * *

 

“How’s your head?” Stan asked out of the blue.

Ford blinked, and then remembered, oh, he had a head injury.  “Fine, it’s fine. It just stings a little, probably not a concussion.”

“Ya want me ta take a look anyway, just in case?”  Stan pulled himself up. “Like you said, this’ll go faster if we’re both in peak physical condition.”

Ford sighed.  “Yes, I suppose you had better.”

Stan gestured to the ground.  “Sit, boy.”

Ford glared, even as he lowered himself down.  “Now who’s being condescending?”

There was a hint of a gruff chuckle behind him before Stan’s thick fingers were, with surprising gentleness, parting his curls.

 

The cut wasn’t too deep; if anything, it was more like a scrape, which was easily cleaned and had a bit of bandage stuck to it.

“All this-” Stan tugged Ford’s hair surrounding the injury- “probably saved you from getting hurt worse.  Mom was right after all-having curly hair _is_ a gift.”

Ford snorted.

Then Stan came and sat down in front of him, and without needing to discuss it, together they worked on fixing up their other, smaller injuries.  Stan also checked to make sure Ford’s pupils were reacting normally, and whether he seemed to be having any other symptoms of concussion (he wasn’t).  When they were finished, Stan pulled out the apple-like fruit he’d swiped, as well as a clean undershirt for himself, which he put on despite the way his arm twinged in pain.  He tossed one of the fruits to Ford, and sat down a foot away from him, biting into the other one.

“You don’t know if that’s safe for consumption!” Ford scolded, staring at him.  “It might be incompatible with our genetic makeup, or-”

“Uf foo dome wan gor, Ugh eee igh.”  (Translation: If you don’t want yours, I’ll eat it, spoken through a full mouth.)  Stan reached out and made like he was going to grab the food out of Ford’s hand; as he’d suspected, he pulled away indignantly and after a second started eating it himself.  Stan allowed a smug smile to touch at his lips.

 

The fruit tasted a bit like a mix of mango and pineapple, which he hadn’t expected, but he’d never been all that picky about how food tasted so it was fine.

Stan ate all the way to the core, which he tossed on the fire.  Then he grabbed the tattered remains of his clothes, and started forming them into a makeshift pillow.  He was just digging back into his knapsack to see if there was anything else he could use, when Ford clotheslined him by saying softly, “Thank you for coming for me.”

Stan froze; it took him a little bit to force his fingers to start moving again, and the rest of him to straighten up.

“Yeah, well-” he cleared his throat, “thanks for-” _not abandoning me again-_ “saving me from big and ugly.”

Ford smiled, a little thinly.  Stan managed to smile back.

He sat back down next to his twin, and went back to work making up a bed.  For a second, one of his hands started to rise-but then a memory of a blank set of curtains swam before his eyes, and he quickly lowered it and hoped Ford hadn’t seen.

If he did, he didn’t say anything; he just got up and worked on a makeshift bed of his own.

 

By now, the rain had stopped; both of them lay and stared up at the sky, not speaking save for Ford saying he was going to set an alarm to wake him up every two hours for a while to make extra sure he didn’t have a concussion, and Stan saying whatever, nerd.

Despite the pain in his shoulder, Stan lay on his back, watching the faint twinkle of stars peeking through the canopy of trees and the overhang of clouds.  He thought about, but didn’t ask, if Ford remembered that time they went camping with Shermy just before their first year of high school and they ended up getting chased by a swarm of wasps.  And Ford thought about, but didn’t say, that he’d gone hiking with his friend Fiddleford and that it had reminded him of going on camping trips with Stanley, but oh, he’d have seen that part crossed out in his journal, right, and he was making this worse by continuing to talk, wasn’t he?

And both of them thought about laughing together at old memories, but neither of them said a word.  They just lay there until they dropped off, not remembering to discuss keeping watch this time but keeping their weapons close at hand.

Close together, but still miles apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And yet so far.


	11. Definitely not singing in the rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight trigger warning for a mention of kinkiness. Though it's probably so slight it doesn't even need it...but I want to cover all my bases. Even though I just made things a little awkward, didn't I?  
> *Clears throat*  
> Moving on...

Ford’s eyes flicked open when a drop of water landed on his nose, and within seconds he was wide awake, sitting up and looking around.

There was nothing in their little campsite that shouldn’t be there: just him, the low fire, and his still-snoring brother.  The sky was still covered with clouds, he saw through the gaps in the tree canopy, but it was light enough that he thought it was probably getting close to dawn.

Stan shuffled in his sleep, one arm batting at the air, and Ford heard him mutter something that sounded a little like “No, ‘m sorry!” before settling down again.  He wondered what was going on in his twin’s head.

 

Ford sat cross-legged on his makeshift bed and picked up the quantum destabilizer, checking it over to make sure it hadn’t sustained any significant damage from all the recent activity.  To his annoyance, the scope had gotten bent to a weird angle somehow; he grabbed up the pliers again and set about fixing it. This occupied him until he heard Stan grumbling his way into wakefulness.  He glanced over at Stan, and their eyes met briefly; then his twin let out a soft exhale, and sat up. After spending a moment scratching himself, his twin got up and shuffled off into the nearby trees.

When he came back, Stan dug out more fruit from his knapsack, tossing one to Ford, who was forced to drop the pliers to catch it.  He shot Stan an annoyed look; he just smirked and built up the fire a little. Ford sighed and stuck the fruit in his mouth while he picked up the pliers, and began juggling the tasks of eating and working at the same time.

 

For ten minutes there was silence, save the sounds of chewing and readjusting of metal alloys.  When Ford finally finished, he sighted down the scope, nodding in approval. Perfect.

 

“So,” Stan said aloud, making him jump a little at the unexpected noise, “we in the right dimension now?”  He pulled his tattered vest and jacket back on.

“Yes, I was able to program the pathway in time.  We are in the Dimension of Living Water.”

Stan glanced at a nearby puddle, leftover from the previous night’s rain.  “Looks like pretty dead water to me.”

In a moment that couldn’t have been more perfect if some sinister being had planned it that way, there was a roar of thunder from above, and the sound of rain starting to fall around them again.

Stan glared as Ford started to open his mouth.  “Shut up, Poindexter.”

Ford was unable to avoid smirking a little as he pulled out the map the women had given them, glad that the grove they were in still provided some shelter.  “The river we need to travel on should be a few miles to the east…” he stood up, squinting at the sky to figure out where east was. “You wouldn’t happen to have a compass, would you?”

Stan shook his head.

“Pity we can’t use the sun as a point of reference...except we don’t know if the sun here travels in the same path as our own; it could rise in the west and set in the east,” Ford realized aloud.  Come to think of it, he didn’t even know if this dimension had perhaps more than one sun, or somehow made do without a sun at all.

“Can’t you just see what side of the trees the moss is growing on or whatever?” Stan asked, as he began packing up their stuff.

Ford looked at the nearest tree, which was absolutely dripping with moss on all sides.  “Something tells me that’s not a feasible option here, Stanley.”

“Then maybe we should just go back to the road?  I think there was one on the map that looks like it could be the same one,” Stan offered, a little hesitantly.

Ford brightened.  “Yes, it does seem reasonable to suppose that those women would give us coordinates somewhere close to where they want us to go, doesn’t it?”

Stan just hoisted his pack onto his shoulders with a small roll of his eyes that seemed to say, _Yes, ladies and gentlemen, my brother is a genius_.

They made their way back to the road they’d arrived on, and after looking at the map again Ford decided on a direction, and they set off.

* * *

 

After walking in silence for about half an hour, Ford asked, “...You figured out my codes?”

“...I had a lot of down time here and there.”  Stan saw no need to mention that some of it had been in a cell on Lottocron 9, or while he was lying in a cave recovering from the fever that had made him feel like his flesh was melting off his bones.  He didn’t even say that it had actually been kind of fun, figuring out the hidden messages that Ford had felt the bizarre need to hide in his personal journal that was unlikely to be read by anyone else in this lifetime.

Ford hummed thoughtfully and stepped around a mud puddle.

 

More silence followed.  Stan tried to think of something else to say, because it didn’t feel like a comfortable silence, it felt like an awkward silence between strangers or distant acquaintances who didn’t know what to say to each other, and it wasn’t supposed to be like this between them, for cripes sake!

But the only things he could think of to open further conversation would either potentially open more cans of worms between them or be the kind of annoying small talk like you were supposed to do at parties.  So in the end he just stayed quiet and lost himself in thought again.

Until Ford cleared his throat and spoke again: “Stanley, last night while I was patching you up, I noticed some...interesting scars.”

Stan glanced at him challengingly.  “Yeah?”

“Yes.  There were some on your back that looked a lot like-like whip marks.”

He grimaced.  Crap. Speaking of cans of worms...

“...Would you believe that was just for fun?”

“Not now that you’ve said _that_ , no.”

_Worth a shot._

“I was in a dimension that was kinda medieval.  This one lord took it real personal when I conned him outa some stuff, and then wouldn’t tell him where I’d hidden it, so he decided to make me pay for it with my hide.”

Ford gave him a look that was more than a little horrified.

Stan just shrugged.  “It was only about ten lashes.  He threatened to take all the skin off my back, but I wouldn’t scream like he wanted me to and his sissy noodle arms got tired.”  He pulled his hood up from where it had been slipping off his forehead; as a result, droplets of water fell past his eyes to splatter on his boots.

“But enough about me; let’s talk about some of your adventures.”

“Stanley...”

“Come on, I bet you’ve got better scars than I do.”  Then Stan’s lips curled up into an evil smile. “And better tattoos, too.”

Ford blushed all the way to the roots of his hair.  “I don’t have-”

“I nearly got arrested for you once, but they let me go because I didn’t have one proclaiming that I’m an all-star.”

He grinned at the mortified squeak his brother let out.

Finally Ford muttered, “I learned that when a tribe of octopus-armed warrior piglets asks you to go out for drinks with them, just say no.”

Stan snickered at his twin’s expense, glad that the subject had been sort of changed.

 

When he finished laughing, they found themselves trading a few more lighthearted stories about different adventures they’d had in the multiverse, and really laughing together for the first time in-well, forever.  Stan almost pointed it out, but inwardly slapped himself.

_Don’t spoil the moment, idiot._

He instead saw Ford’s complaints about the M Dimension, and raised him three weeks in a dimension where people burst into random musical numbers every time something happened, almost completely literally.

 

Walking in the rain wasn’t the least pleasant experience Stan had ever had, not by a long shot.  Even so, soon enough his toes were feeling completely shriveled up in their boots, and his jacket was soaked through and his vest was well on the way to following suit, and he felt like he would never be dry again.

And then he heard the rushing of water up ahead, and squinting through the rain, he caught sight of an enormous body of water which was probably only called a river because it was too rapid-moving to be called a sea.

They’d made it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a filler chapter, I know.  
> Sorry.  
> But hey, at least they're continuing to talk to each other, right?


	12. The Rime of the thirty-three-year-old mariners

The river roared hungrily as it surged past the two men, the noise reminding Ford of some of the monsters he’d had to deal with.  The surface was covered with white foam, and little waves were being kicked up where there were evidently rocks under the surface.  It looked about as tame as a herd of wild horses during a lightning storm.

For a moment, all they could do was stand there, catching their breath and staring at the vast expanse; then Stan turned his head downstream, and his eyes suddenly lit up.  Ford’s eyes followed his to find-

A boat.

An old, kind of decrepit-looking, wooden boat, tied to a tree on the shore, with a sailless mast and a cabin area in the center.

A somewhat bigger boat than theirs had been, and more functional, and clearly not a full-fledged sailboat, but still similar enough that his throat was starting to close and his hands were clenching and-

And Stan was marching towards it, splashing purposefully through the mud puddles.

 

Ford let out an annoyed growl and hurried after him; by the time he reached his twin, Stan was checking the boat over with some kind of gadget (Ford wondered just how heavy that vest of his was, since he seemed to keep everything but the kitchen sink in its pockets), and then with a satisfied nod he was climbing aboard.

“Stanley!” Ford scolded, coming up to the side of the boat, “you had better not be thinking what I know you’re thinking!”

“...That’s not contradictory at all,” Stan retorted, opening the door of the cabin and peering inside.

“You don’t know if this belongs to someone!”  Ford caught himself before he could go any further with that lecture, remembering Stan’s previous comment on glass houses and stones.  “And-and do you even know how to sail well enough to use it on this kind of water?!”

They’d spent time reading books about sailing when they were kids-or at least, Ford had read them aloud and Stan had possibly been paying attention-but the _Stan O’War_ had never quite reached the point of being sea-worthy, and Ford had certainly never bothered to carry his education on the subject any further after that fight.

Stan actually seemed to be considering his words, but then he said in a tone that was trying to be indifferent, “If you’d rather just walk, that’s your business.  I can sail this thing myself.”

_I can make it on my own!  I don’t need you! I don’t need anyone!_

 

Ford took a deep breath and banished the echoing words from his mind, noticing the slightly defensive posture his brother had taken, and the way his jaw was set like he was getting ready for them to have another (admittedly kind of unnecessary) fight.  Or like he expected to be deserted again.

Things had been going so well between them, but they were heading back to square one all over again.

“That doesn’t answer the question of whether you know much about sailing,” Ford insisted at last, trying to keep his tone as non-condescending or confrontational as possible.  “Because I certainly don’t.”

Stan blinked, then made a mock gasping noise.  “You don’t know something, and you’re actually _admitting_ it?”

“Don’t change the subject!”

Stan held up his hand placatingly.  “Okay, okay. I...know a little bit about it.  I picked up a few things in some of the dimensions I went to, and I remember the stuff from those books you read.”

Huh; so he had been listening all along.

“It looks like-” he crossed the deck and picked up a long pole which had been lying in a corner- “this baby’s mostly controlled by using one of these to kind of steer and keep you from smashing into rocks.  I doubt they use sails most’a the time because it rains so much here, so they mostly focus on manpower and the current to get them back and forth. Should be easy enough to handle.  By the way, I think this thing used to belong to the smugglers.”  He set down the pole, crossed back to the doorway of the cabin, knelt down and pulled up one of the deck’s boards, revealing that it was actually a hatch above a storage space. “I doubt they’re gonna need it back; it looks like it hasn’t been used in a long time.”  Gingerly he batted at some cobwebs.

“Are you sure it’s real neglect?  Maybe they dressed it up to look like an abandoned boat so they can take advantage of gullible idi-people who might wander onto it.”  He was feeling a little thrown for a loop about his twin figuring out the mechanics of this boat at such a rapid pace.

Stan obviously caught the slip but decided not to comment on it, lowering the hatch and standing back up.  “I checked-there’s no lifeforms on here except for us, and either way I’m tired. So if they do show up, sucks to be them.”  He looked back down at Ford. “Either way, it’s gotta be faster than walking.” Then, in a more humble tone, he added, “If you really think it’s a bad idea, we can leave it.”

Ford pursed his lips, considering...and climbed onto the boat.

* * *

 

Even with Stan’s insights, they had a rocky start as soon as they were untied.

Literally, they almost smashed prow-first into a boulder before Stan managed to push off it with the pole, redirecting them into the main part of the current.  Ford found another pole on the other side of the deck, and got to work protecting them on that side.

It was harsh, exhausting work; they had to constantly keep a lookout for obstacles, not just rocks but also fallen tree branches, and once even an entire fallen tree.  They were attacked by water on all sides, falling on them from above in increasingly torrential downpour and splashing up onto them from below in vicious waves. Ford occupied himself thinking up potential blueprints for a device to detect vibrations in the water, and that would steer the boat out of the way of them automatically.  Realizing that it would probably be impossible to create such a thing out of the materials they had at the present time without dismantling some of their necessary equipment, he switched to ideas for redesigning their poles to make them more effective for paddling as well as deflecting. Then, as another wave rose up and hit him in the face, he included a large Plexiglas railing around the rim of the boat that was high enough to keep him out of the splash zone, and since this was a fantasy anyway and he could do what he wanted, a motor and an entourage of robots who would handle all the steering and deflecting and holding onto a slick, damp piece of wood without needing to worry about it being almost wrenched out of their hands or getting blisters.

 

When it started getting dark Stan found the anchor and managed to stop the boat in the middle of the river.  The two men, utterly exhausted and with everything hurting, but their arms and shoulders throbbing in particular (Stan was probably feeling it worse due to his injuries, but he didn’t say a word of complaint), went into the cabin and got a fire started in the old pot-bellied stove they’d discovered.  Stan wasted no time shedding his saturated outer layers, emptying out his pockets (again, Ford marveled at the vest’s ability to contain so much stuff) and laying everything in front of the stove to dry off. Soon he was in just his boxers and undershirt, and digging about for some food.

 

Ford stripped to his own undershirt and leggings, before taking a better look around the cabin as he allowed himself to get warm and dry, hoping fervently that neither of them was going to catch cold from spending so much time wet and freezing.

It was bigger than he had expected on the inside, with five hammocks hung up next to the walls around the stove, and a few wooden chests lying under them.  When he inspected the contents, he found they mostly contained discarded clothes and a few other odds and ends; a few weapons, a bottle of some kind of sticky, glue-like substance, a broken figurine of a merman carrying a net and trident, a shell necklace.

Thoughtfully Ford sorted out a few things that seemed like they could be useful, and then went back to sitting in front of the fire.  He accepted the food Stan offered him, noticing idly that they were starting to run low, and munched.

There was silence, but it felt more comfortable than it had been during the-was it really just the day before yesterday that Stan had rescued him?  Of course, time was somewhat relative in the multiverse, even if you weren’t in the Do-Over Dimension, but still; just a few days ago this was almost literally the last scenario he would ever have expected to find himself in.  On a boat with his twin, just like they’d talked about when they were young.

Unbelievable.

* * *

 

Absentmindedly his gaze dropped to his journals.

Somehow he had almost completely forgotten about them in the midst of all their adventures.  It was almost funny; he’d been so indignant and angry when he found out Stanley had them, but then they had slipped away from his thoughts altogether.

And even though they were _his_ journals, which he had created himself and filled with his research about the plethora of fascinating supernatural and scientific anomalies he’d discovered, he was surprised to find that he wasn’t feeling any rush to reclaim them now.  Perhaps this was, in part, because it was simply more practical for Stanley to hold onto them for now, him being the one with more pockets...

“Ground control to Major Ford, come in, Major Ford!”

He blinked, realizing that his brother was trying to get his attention.  “...Sorry?”

Stan rolled his eyes.  “I had a question about the triangle freak.”

 

Ford grimaced; even though Stan hadn’t so much as mentioned Bill’s name, had spoken about him with flippant nonchalance, he still looked like the reference to him was a loudly shouted obscenity.

“Have.”

Stan blinked.  “Huh?”

“It’s, you _have_ a question about him.”

“Ford, stop being pedantic to avoid the question.”

“What do you want to know?” he asked softly, ears reddening.

Stan paused, rubbing his neck a little uncertainly.  “Um...you’ve probably been to a few parallel earths, right?”

“...Yes?”  Ford tilted his head.

“Well, if there’s multiple versions of our reality, are there multiple versions of him, too?  Or is there just one?”

“In my travels, I have only found evidence of one Bill Cipher in the multiverse.”  He shuddered a little at the idea of different versions of his former muse. “Believe me, that’s more than enough.”

“Oh, I believe it.  I saw what the nightmare realm was like when I first came through.”

Somehow, Ford found his previous ire over Stan’s recklessness in jumping into the portal to find him wasn’t as strong as it had been when he first figured it out.  And not just because he’d somehow managed to create a unicorn hair barrier around the house.

 

“So, what’s happening to the house while you’re gone?” he asked, deciding to change the subject.  “Did you remember to lock up?”

Stan rolled his eyes.  “Yes, mother.” He snickered at the indignant look Ford gave him.  “And I got someone to watch over it. An old buddy of yours.”

“Fiddleford?” Ford guessed at once.  His suspicions confirmed by the look that crossed Stan’s face, he asked with a hint of urgency, “So you found him?  Is he doing all right? We...didn’t part on the best of terms.”

Now it was Stan’s turn to grimace.  “...Yes and no. It’s kinda complicated.”

Ford folded his arms.  “Well, now you _have_ to tell me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plead guilty to being very ignorant about how boats work, having spent very little time on them.  
> Don't judge me for any glaring errors I might have made.
> 
> At least Ford is finally starting to mellow out a little, huh?


	13. Of Hillbillies and Half-Truths

_Flashback flashback flashback_

 

This idea was crazy.

There was no way Stan wasn’t jumping to absolutely enormous conclusions right now.

He stood uncertainly at the edge of the junkyard, Journal 3 clenched in his hands and tapping his thumbs on it in his agitation.

Inside he could hear someone whooping and yodelling to himself, while strumming out some crazy tune on a banjo.

_This can’t be right...but what if it is?_

Because who else in this nutty town had the brains to build giant robots using only whatever scraps he could dig out of the dump?  Who else played banjo, and talked with a Southern accent (unless you counted that dopey Durland kid, who wasn’t even the right age)?

It was kind of a long shot, but sometimes-very rarely sometimes-one of Stan’s hunches would turn out right.

He exhaled long and deep, and then climbed through the gap in the fence.

 

Crazy McGucket, as everyone called him, was sitting in the shelter of a pile of cars as he played, more concerned about enthusiasm than tune or tempo.  Surrounding him in a semicircle were a possum, a raccoon, and a set of tin cans that had stuffed animal heads placed on top of them. It shouldn’t be possible to blend sad, funny and disturbing together all at once, but somehow he was managing it with this little concert.

Stan cleared his throat.

“Hey, McGucket?”

The sentient members of the little group all startled at the sound of his voice; the animals fled into the dump, and McGucket grabbed his banjo up by the neck, turning it into a makeshift club.  But after a second his skewed eyes kind of focused in on Stan, and his face split into a wide, gap-toothed grin.

“Well, howdy!” he chirped, setting down the instrument and bounding to his feet.  “C’mon in, feller-I was jes thinkin’ it’d be nice ta have company! Care fer half a possum shishky-bob?”

A skewer holding a chunk of slightly charred meat was thrust under his nose.

Stan blinked, and then, with a small shrug, he accepted the skewer.  “Sure, thanks.” Without even asking which half of the possum it was, he took a bite.

It was probably very sad that he could say, in all honesty, that he’d had worse.

McGucket looked oddly poleaxed.  “Ain’t nobody who’s visited me ever accepted food I tried ta offer ‘em before.”

Stan swallowed the mouthful.  “I’ve learned not ta be a picky eater.”  Without quite meaning to, he found himself taking another bite (and deciding it could use a little salt, or maybe some hot sauce) as he followed the hillbilly into his...house in only the loosest sense of the word.

 

Stan had to crouch a little to avoid smacking his head against the ceiling; he practically had to sit down in the name of self-preservation.

McGucket’s body was in such a naturally hunched position that he had no such trouble; he just perched himself on an overturned washtub, swinging his legs like someone much younger than he looked and babbling on about something before Stan interrupted him.

“Is your name Fiddleford?”

It was kind of abrupt, yes; but he didn’t have time to waste dodging around the issue, he needed to know _now_.

McGucket started.  “How-how’d ya know that?”

Stan felt his pulse race; he _had_ been right, he was sure of it now.  It had been just one little entry, but he doubted there was anyone else around here with that name.

“Because I found it written down in here.”  He held up the journal.

 

McGucket squinted at it in confusion, scratching his head under his hat.

“Whatcha got there?”

“It’s a journal belonging to someone that you used to work for.”

He looked even more bewildered.  “I-work? What’re-”

“Maybe this’ll help you remember him.”  Stan set the journal down, and reached into his pocket, pulling out Ford’s glasses.  Carefully he put them on; instantly his vision became an uncomfortable blur. Geez, Ford’s eyesight was terrible.

“Try imagining me with a different chin, and an extra finger on each hand.”  He peered at McGucket over the tops of the glasses.

For a moment the other man’s face went blank; then his eyes widened, and his breathing became loud and ragged, and the hand gripping the banjo began to tremble.

“His name-well, mostly we just called him Ford.”  Stan picked up the journal again, flipped to the pages that were about Fiddleford-yes, he felt confident calling him that now, slowly turning them after letting the hillbilly get a good look.  He tried to keep his voice soft and soothing. “Ya came here to help him build something important, something he thought would change the world, and, well, technically it would, just not how he thought.  And then some bad stuff happened ta you, so ya invented a gun that-”

He just barely managed to dodge the banjo before it came swinging towards his head.

 

McGucket let out a banshee howl, and despite the aggressive action he’d just taken he started scrambling away crab-style, babbling out something incoherent and groping around with one hand before finally snatching up another improvised weapon.

Stan whipped off the glasses and stuffed them back into his pocket.  “Wait! Listen ta me, please!”

When it came to his brother, any allergies he might have to proper etiquette went straight out the window.

Fiddleford shrieked again, hurling a crowbar at him (which again, he barely managed to dodge) and then clamping his hands over his head.  “No, I can’t-I can’t remember! I can’t-I can’t-I can’t-”

It sounded less like “I can’t” meaning “I’m not able to” and more like “I can’t” meaning “I must not.”

Stan knelt, holding up his hands in a way that he would have denied was pleading.  “Fiddleford, listen! Stanford needs help, and you’re the only one who can help me!”  His hands trembled a little, and his next word came out slightly choked. “Please…”

 

Something about his tone made the other man sit up straight and look at him, head tilted thoughtfully.  He pushed his hat back, revealing only a few chunks of gray hair left, and scratched his scalp, dislodging a few parasitic-looking creatures.

Finally he said softly, “I-that does sound a mite bit familiar.  But-but it’s so hard ta-everthin’s all mangled up in my noggin, I can’t-”

He crawled forward and flipped through a few pages of the journal, stopping on the picture of the joker in the hooded robe.  He gasped.

“Th-the Society o’ the Blind Eye!  They-they did somethin’ ta me, I don’t-the men in robes, they-”

Stan squinted at the picture.  He might have seen those yahoos once when he was in town late one night, getting supplies to create another attraction; he’d kept out of their way, because if there was one thing he’d learned, it was to stay away from weirdos who hid their faces.  He’d seen them...around the natural history museum.

“...How’d you like ta help me break into a government building and see if we can get your memories back?”

Fiddleford looked surprised...but then grinned.

“That sounds morally feasible!”

Stan was beginning to feel glad Ford had become friends with this guy.

* * *

**Four hours later…**

 

Fiddleford and Stan, smelling like smoke, covered in ashes and a myriad of tiny cuts and bruises, but with the memory gun and the recording of McGucket’s memories in hand, hurriedly piloted the giant robot legs away from the burning museum.

“Whoo-hoo-hoo!  Hot diggety!” Fiddleford crowed, hamboning on his knees in excitement.

Stan grinned with equal fervor.  It hadn’t exactly been his most efficient breaking-and-entering, but it had been successful, and when the police and firefighters showed up all anyone would remember was that the group of yahoos standing out in front had been getting together for the weekly Miners Appreciation Meeting, and a grease fire had broken out.

 

So far, so good.

* * *

 

**A week after that…**

 

“I ain’t goin’ near that thing!”

Fiddleford’s eyes, wide behind their newfound green spectacles, were filled with a kind of fearful defiance, and his bony finger shook as he pointed it at Stan.

“You know what it did t’me, you had better not be askin’-”

“If you’d _listen_ ta me for a second, I ain’t askin’ ya to go near the portal!” Stan interrupted.

Fiddleford glared suspiciously.

“I promise, I’ve mostly got it figured out on my own, I just need ta steal some toxic chemicals ta power the stupid thing and it’ll be all ready ta go.”  He crouched down so he could see his (Friend? Partner?) brother’s friend’s eyes. “What I need is for you ta watch the house for me.”

Fiddleford’s belligerence turned to confusion.  “Eh?”

“I’m gonna go into the portal.  I’m gonna go lookin’ for Ford.” Even if, horrible thought though it was, all he found was a corpse or a jar full of ashes or something.

“B-but what about your business?”

Stan shrugged.  “If you wanna try bein’ Mr. Mystery while I’m gone, be my guest.”

Fiddleford’s face lit up.  “I kin make a robot you ta be Mr. Mystery!  I jest need ta scan your brain so’s I can scramble up an accurate biomechanical brainwave generator and it’ll act jest like ya!  No one’ll know the difference!”

 _At least not in this town, they wouldn’t._   “Uh...sure.”  Stan shrugged and stood up.  “Just make sure that no matter what, nobody takes the house away or goes in the basement.  Keep it ready for us if we ever come back.”

After a long moment, Fiddleford nodded.  In a far more solemn voice than he’d used thus far, he said, “You’re a powerful brave man, doin’ this fer Stanford.”

Stan shrugged.  “Not like I’ve got anything to keep me here.”

 

_End of flashback end of flashback end of flashback_

* * *

 

“...Oh.”

Ford’s voice was very small as his twin finished his story.

 _Not bad for a “weak-willed hayseed,” huh?_   But Stan kept his trap shut; he knew Ford was sorry for what he’d written about his friend; no need to rub salt into the wound.

“So everything should be fine,” he said instead.  “Long as he hasn’t accidentally blown the place up with a flamethrower robot or whatever, it’ll be there waiting for you when we get back.”

Ford let out a small bark of laughter.  “As long as he doesn’t start keeping pigs there; I made my position quite clear on there being no pigs allowed in my house-Stanley?”

Stan covered his mouth, trying to swallow down his mirth.  “Nothin’, nothin’.”

Ford folded his arms.  “What?”

“Just...you might have ta rescind that edict someday.”

Ford fully turned to face him.  “Okay, Stanley, enough. You keep dropping these...weird little hints, like you know something about my future, or things that should have happened.  How?”

 

Stan flinched, and stared down at his bare feet for a second.  Slowly he said, “In one of the dimensions I visited, I met these two guys who told me some stuff about the future.”

Ford tilted his head.  “What, like oracles?”

“Yeah, some kinda oracles.  They told me where you were, and helped me fix Vera-she got broken on accident when I first got there.  Nice guys.”

Ford’s eyes widened with interest.  “What else did they tell you?”

“Well, for one thing they said that if we can’t defeat Bill any other way, we oughtta put together that zodiac of him that you found.  But we’re gonna have ta wait about eighteen years for all the people who’re part of it ta be born, and even if we do that we’re gonna have a lot of explainin’ ta do to their parents unless he actually manages ta get inta our dimension.”

Ford shuddered.

“But if he does, he won’t be able ta leave Gravity Falls because of its natural weirdness magnetism, so you need ta not get captured by him because then he’ll torture you ta get the equation that’ll dismantle it.  So we should probably not let that happen.”

“Good idea,” Ford said dryly.

Both of them laughed a little.

* * *

 

Stan pulled himself up after a minute, ignoring the throbbing in his shoulder, and climbed into one of the hammocks.

“Think I’m gonna catch some z’s.  Night, Poindexter. Don’t stay up too late; we got more work ta do tomorrow.”

He made himself comfortable, and for a minute there was relative silence between them.  But then Ford asked, “You really didn’t think you had any reason to stay in our dimension?”

Stan shrugged, regardless of whether his twin could see it.  “Nobody left who’d want me ta stay.”

“What about Mom?”

Stan’s eyes, which had been drifting shut, flew open at once.

 

“She was heartbroken when you never came home,” Ford went on when he realized Stan wasn’t going to answer.  “I don’t think she ever forgave Pa for throwing you out.”

“She thinks I’m dead, Ford,” Stan whispered just barely loud enough for him to hear.  Then he turned on his side, effectively making it clear that for now, at least, the subject was dropped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, it's highly unlikely that Ford's going to let it go that easily.


	14. The truth will make you...laugh?

Of course, it didn’t stay dropped.

When Stan woke up, Ford was already dressed and on deck; for his own sake Stan hoped that he had gotten at least a little sleep, because if his brother was as sore as he was he needed it.

Moodily Stan got ready for the day, and opened the door to find that a) the rain had let up for now, and b) Ford was standing by the side of the boat, staring out at the trees with his hands clasped behind his back.

 

It felt way too early in the morning for an honest conversation, especially when they didn’t even have coffee, so Stan began to quietly close the door again-to no avail, because Ford spun around and demanded, “What do you mean, Mom thinks you’re dead?!”

_ Rats. _

“...Which word don’t you understand?” he asked dryly, finally stepping outside and brushing past him to lean his elbows on the railing.

Ford stepped back into his line of vision.  “Stanley. The truth.”

Stan sighed.  “You’re not gonna like it.”

“Tell me anyway.”  Ford leaned right next to him, showing no intention of letting this go.

After a moment, Stan closed his eyes and began to speak.

* * *

 

When explaining how he found and helped McGucket, Stan might have conveniently forgotten to mention what he had done to Ford’s house while he was gone, remembering what the other dimension’s Ford had said about his personal reaction to it.  He mighta known better, though; Ford never had been able to ignore something that he didn’t have the answer to. And while he would have preferred to delay the inevitable, it was probably better to get this over with.

Reluctantly Stan explained about taking on Ford’s identity and faking his death in a car crash, and creating the Murder Hut (or, as he’d started calling it before he’d reopened the portal, the Mystery Shack) to pay off the mortgage and electricity bills and, you know, make sure he could afford to eat and stuff.

 

“You can be mad if you wanna,” he concluded, staring into the rushing current below, “but I ain’t sorry for it.  It was the only way I could stay there and figure out how to get you back, so I’m not apologizing for anything except all the problems it’s gonna cause when you’re home.”

Then he closed his eyes stubbornly.

They opened thirty seconds later when a most unexpected noise reached his ears: Ford started laughing.

It started out as just his normal soft chuckling, but then he was full-out guffawing, actually having to put his weight on the rail to hold himself up.  He looked over at Stan like he was going to try to speak, but at the perplexed expression on his twin’s face he just cracked up again.

“...I don’t even know how to respond to this,” Stan finally said.

_ I think I broke him. _

 

It was almost a full minute before Ford regained some level of composure; wiping his glasses on his tunic with one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other, he gasped out, “I-I’m sorry, Stanley, it’s just-th-that is such a  _ you _ solution, and it-” he snorted again.

“I feel like I oughta be offended.”

Ford just giggled again.  “I feel like I have two choices here-I can get mad at you again, or I can laugh, and there just isn’t much point in being angry, is there?”

Stan shrugged, still feeling like the situation was more than a little surreal.

“You’re right, there will be some problems when we get home, but if I recall correctly, the people of Gravity Falls are as a rule very accepting or oblivious towards the unusual.”

Tentatively Stan smiled.  “Yeah, no kidding.” He thought part of that might have been due to the Society of the Blind Eye’s influence, but still.

Ford sighed, rubbing his eyes again.  “Oh my goodness. You actually-” He let out another snort.

 

“...How much sleep did you get last night?”

“Around three hours.”

“That explains a lot.  You’re going back to bed.”

“But-”

“No buts except yours in your hammock.  If you’re gonna order me ta get enough rest, you need ta do the same.”

“Fine…”

* * *

 

To Stan’s relief, even when Ford finally woke up again and they raised the anchor, his brother still found the whole thing more amusing than something to be mad about.  And he didn’t say a word about trying to shut down the Shack. Stan didn’t get his hopes up about his brother wanting to keep it going once they got back, but maybe he wouldn’t throw him away the minute they returned to the basement.

Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, this chapter is short compared to the other monsters I've cranked out for this story, but I have plans for the next chapter.  
> Also, sorry if Ford seems out of character at all, but I kind of wanted to avoid them having another stupid fight, y'know?


	15. Ford opens Pandora's journal

For a few days, things were a more or less peaceful routine: wake up, eat, dress, raise the anchor, pole their way down the river until sunset (with optional food and/or bathroom breaks), drop the anchor, rest and eat, go to bed, repeat.

While resting and eating, they would talk.

Not so much about the thick, juicy stuff that they really needed to talk about, or a few things that they probably needed to talk about but were unwilling to bring up and therefore disrupt their tentative peace.  But their conversations made it easier for them to not feel like strangers or distant acquaintances, and that was something, right?

Often they ended up having scar contests, which so far Stan was winning hands down (Ford suspected it was in part because he had no qualms about exaggerating the stories of how he got his scars-at least, he hoped he was exaggerating, considering how horrifying some of the stories were).  Or they would talk about some of their more pleasant adventures in the years they’d been apart, or just play a few rounds of poker using a pack of cards Stan had somehow held onto courtesy of his time in Lottocron 9. It was a somewhat uneasy calm, but better than no calm at all.

 

Then, one night after Stan had gone to bed, Ford finally did something he’d been thinking of doing for a while, but kept not getting around to: he gathered up his journals from where his brother had left them on the floor, and began flipping through them.

Considering they’d spent so long in Stan’s possession, they were surprisingly undisturbed.  Or rather, Ford’s research had been left undisturbed. Here and there he found little notes left in the margins in his brother’s untidy scrawl; in his entry about the Plaidypus and not wanting to eat one’s eggs, Stan had written, “They’re not that bad,” for example.  His page that first described Fiddleford had “McGucket?” at the bottom with the question mark crossed out in a different color of pen, making Ford suspect that this was when he’d figured out that the crazy hillbilly living in the dump was his old friend and research assistant.  He still felt more than a little like slime for treating Fiddleford and his qualms about their project so terribly; hopefully if- **when** -they got home he could make it up to him.

Another less-than-pleasant reminder of something else Ford had screwed up was one of his final entries, the one where he talked about his brother being just a thief and a charlatan, and said that line about his worth that had hurt him so much when he saw it.  Stan had slashed the sentences through with his pen several times, in a way that probably would have torn the paper if it had been less durable. And then he had written something underneath; it had been crossed out afterwards, but Ford thought he could make out that it was along the lines of “Well screw YOU, you stuck-up son of a-”

_...Yeah, I probably deserve that. _

* * *

 

The pages after that were covered in mathematical equations.

Very complex, surprisingly accurate mathematical equations, which had clearly taken a lot of thought and work.  Ford, who remembered Stan’s grades in high school math, was more than a little surprised. He couldn’t help the thought,  _ Maybe he never felt like he had to know this stuff before. _   And even though part of him felt like he should be annoyed at his twin for using the book he’d made for scratch paper...well, it was unlikely that he’d had many other options, wasn’t it?

Page after page was covered with formulae and notes, or design ideas for a gun that could create mini portals, partly based on Ford’s design for the disaster in his basement-the blueprints made him realize, sheepishly, that it was Stan himself who had been the creator of Vera.  Great, now he was picking up his twin’s habit of anthropomorphizing their weaponry.

There was also a collection of Ford’s wanted posters inserted here and there in the third journal; they seemed to serve both as bookmarks and-he realized from the different dates and lists of crimes on each of them-a way of keeping track of where he’d been.  And, perhaps, an additional method of entertainment, considering that the vast majority of them had been graffitied on.

 

Stan’s drawing skills hadn’t improved much since he was ten, but he hadn’t let that stop him; he added crazy beards and mustaches, or devil’s horns and smoke pouring from Ford’s nostrils, or one particularly noteworthy one that had given his face an enormous afro and buck teeth, with a speech bubble reading: “I’m Ford!  I sleep with my textbooks! ...Under my  _ pillow _ , huh huh huh!”

Ford rolled his eyes.   _ Really mature, Stanley _ .

He quickly turned the page-and paused.

Because he was staring down at a photo of them when they were teens, roughhousing in the boxing ring, carefully pasted into the journal.  There was no caption, no markings, no nothing around it.

 

After staring at it for a long moment, Ford set the book down resolutely.

He retrieved the gluey substance he’d discovered earlier in the cabin; finding that it was still usable, he carefully pasted his own photo in right under Stanley’s, making sure that it was symmetrical.  He let it dry for a minute, just sitting and examining the two photos, and listening to Stan snore and shuffle around in his hammock.

His first instinct was to assume that was the end of Stan’s work in the journal and just go to bed-but curiosity and the fact that there were still plenty of pages left led him to take a peek, just in case.  And no, he could see some writing when he turned up a corner of the page, so he flipped to it-

Ford stared with wide eyes at a map which had been neatly copied out across two pages.

Specifically, a map of the castle in the Finger Dimension, showing where the dungeon and the lab were, with little annotations about alternative escape routes and people to potentially contact and things like that.

And it was all in Ford’s handwriting.

 

He was still trying to process this, figure out what it all meant, when he was thrown on his side by the feeling of something big and heavy smashing into the side of the boat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear.  
> Oh d-d-d-d-dear dear.


	16. Falling for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for discrepancies, errors of science, etc. If you have to, remind yourselves, "It's just a story, I should really just relax."

It really figured.

Stan had been in the middle of a wonderful dream about the original Carla, in the days before she’d thrown him over for that stupid tree-hugger, when suddenly, because whoever was in charge of this universe really liked to torture him, he was thrown right out of his bunk onto the floor-onto his still-sore right arm, no less.

It wasn’t the worst wake-up call he’d ever experienced, but it definitely wasn’t in the top ten.

Instantly awake, Stan began struggling to regain his footing, demanding of Ford (who looked like he hadn’t even gone to bed), “Wha’s goin’ on?!”

“We got hit by something!” Ford yelled back, grabbing up a gun and rushing for the door.  He opened it, said a few choice phrases which were usually more likely to be in Stan’s lexicon, and slammed it again.

“Wha-” Stan began to ask as he armed himself.

“We are in serious trouble.”  Before Stan could point out how very not helpful an explanation that was, he went on, “There is a giant turtle attacking the boat.”

 

Stan blinked.  Finally he asked, “You’re not just talking giant like that one sea turtle that washed up on the beach when we were ten, are you?”

Ford grabbed a handful of hair in each hand like he was about to tear it out.  “ _ WOULD I BE THIS CONCERNED IF IT WAS?! _ ”

Stan just pushed past him to take a look at this giant turtle for himself.

Ford’s description, he realized as he looked outside, had been kind of inadequate.  For one thing, he’d neglected to mention that the turtle looked about half as wide as the river, and had two heads, each of which had a giant hooked beak-thingy.  Its (their?) shell was covered with algae and slime, and what even looked like barnacles, despite this being a fresh-water river. And even without touching it, he could tell it was probably built like a giant underwater tank.  Even more worrying, one of the heads was just now leaning down to take a bite out of the back of their boat.

Stan saw red.

Ford, who had joined him at the door, was already clicking the safety off the weapon in his hand.

“We need to aim for the heads!” he ordered, “They’re likely to be the most vulnerable spot!”   
“ _ No sh _ -”

The rest of Stan’s reply was lost as he fired at the turtle.

 

Both their aims were true; one caught the forehead of the-well, of the head that was attacking them, and the other hit it in the eye.  The air was quickly filled with the smell of charred flesh, and within seconds the enormous head splashed lifelessly into the water, creating a wave that drenched the boat.

Unexpectedly, the other head reared back and screamed.

It was a horrifying, anguished noise, unlike anything a turtle should have been able to make; it sounded like something from one of those monster movies they’d liked watching as kids.  And then the head was lunging for them with a roar, and Stan was firing again but this time the shot bounced off the creature’s beak, and he didn’t have time to shoot again before it smashed into the back of the boat, smashing it into kindling.

 

With yells of alarm the men staggered back, firing again at the turtle; unfortunately, this time their shots went wide, because the prow tilting forward into the water screwed up their aim more than a little.

It was a toss-up what their biggest worry was at the moment: the fact that they were on a sinking ship out in the middle of a giant river so they were now getting dragged by the current even as they sunk, or the fact that they were being attacked by a giant homicidal turtle.

And then, behind them, Stan heard a loud, rushing noise that could only mean one thing.  He glanced over his shoulder, and his suspicions were confirmed.

“Oh,  _ Shmebulock _ .”

Somehow they had reached the falls.

* * *

 

Without needing to talk about it the boys made the executive decision on who was going to deal with which problem.

Stan took Ford’s gun and continued shooting at the turtle using both weapons; this head was unfortunately more intelligent, more agile and/or more prepared than the other had been, dodging the shots or deflecting them off its shell while swiping at him with its beak, forcing him to leap and dodge and jump around with far more agility than he was capable of on a normal day.  It’s amazing, however, what the threat of imminent death can motivate you to do, so he continued to combat the beast as best he could, even charging forward and clubbing it right in the nose with the handle of Beatrice.

The turtle jerked back, but then lunged at him, forcing him to roll to the side and fire off another shot with both barrels.

 

Ford, meanwhile, had slid down the side of the boat; first he tried seeing if he could steer them out of the main current, but the pole wasn’t long enough to hit the bottom, so he rushed back into the cabin and grabbed Stan’s vest, looking feverishly through the pockets for anything that could help them-some kind of advanced technology, or a rope, or-

Or there was always Vera.

 

Ford froze, staring down at the gun lying a few feet away.

They could always open a portal, disappear into a different dimension and then come back when it was ready for use again-

And end up right back where they’d started, all the way down the river, and have to make this whole journey again, only this time they wouldn’t have a boat to help them.

He could almost hear Stanley demanding angrily, “Which is more important, Sixer, your little vendetta or our  _ lives _ ?!  We can’t stop the triangle freak if we’re dead!”

Which, of course, was perfectly true.  But at the same time, they were so  _ close _ to their goal now, it offended every sensibility he possessed to go all the way back to square one, no matter how prudent a move that might be-

From outside there was a loud, gurgling roar, an enormous splash whose vibrations sent him back to the floor, and then the boisterous sound of his twin’s triumphant cackling.

He rushed to the door and found Stan doing some kind of ridiculous victory dance; behind them lay the lifeless corpse of the turtle, already starting to sink back into the river.

“Deal with it, you two-headed nightmare!” Stan called after it, waving his guns in the air.  “No matter how bad you think you are, you got NOTHIN’ on-!”

Which was, unfortunately, the moment when their boat went over the waterfall.

 

Ford could have sworn that they weren’t that close to the falls the last time he’d looked-that they’d been at least ten yards away, with at least some time to come up with some means of escape from this situation.  And with the fact that the boat had been actively sinking and should therefore have been pulled down further into the water in spite of the strength of the current, this should not be happening right now.

Unfortunately, as he had learned many times in the past, the way things should be often had nothing whatsoever to do with the way things actually were.

For one horrible moment Ford was falling, arms and legs flailing uselessly through the air as he screamed-and then he saw something long and dark coming closer to him, and without thinking he grabbed onto it, jerking his fall to an abrupt and somewhat painful halt.  He barely had time to register that it was a big, relatively thick tree branch, and to wonder what the heck a tree branch was doing sticking out of the middle of a waterfall, when a loud, gruff yell sounded from behind him, and the branch dipped under the additional weight of his brother.

Despite the fact that he was no longer falling, Stan was still yelling blue murder and trying to climb all the way onto the branch as much as possible, making it jerk and bounce up and down.

Of course.  Ford had almost forgotten about his twin’s acrophobia.

“STANLEY!” He yelled over the roar of the water, pulling himself up enough that he could wrap both arms around the branch.  “Stanley, stop!”

The sound of his voice seemed to help; his twin finally stopped shrieking, and jerked his head around in his direction.  Even in the moonlight he could make out the wide, dilated pupils and the raw terror on the rest of his face.

“Listen to me,” Ford called in as calm a tone as he was capable of, “I know you’re afraid, but you need to calm down, okay?  We literally cannot afford to panic right now!”

Despite his fear, Stan still found it in him to roll his eyes at him.  “You’re the only person I know who could say something like that in a situation like this!”

Ford just sighed at him, and followed the edge of the branch with his eyes to see that it was sticking out of the side of the falls.  He wondered if a fallen tree had somehow gotten stuck between some rocks, and that was how this had happened; if so, he was absolutely not complaining.

 

Out of morbid curiosity Ford looked down-and even though he wasn’t as uncomfortable with heights as Stan was, he had to fight back a wave of nausea at what had to be at  _ least _ a thousand-foot drop, most likely with sharp rocks at the bottom.

Their poor boat was a goner, along with all their weapons, his journals, and any hope of defeating Bill.

It was like a sucker-punch to the gut, realizing that once again his inability to make the right decision had just gotten them into a deeper level of trouble.

The branch shuddered and dipped again, and he realized it was because Stan had gingerly pulled himself over next to him.

“...Think we can make our way over there?” he asked, jerking his chin over towards the falls.  “Maybe we can find a place ta stand or somethin’.”

Ford tried to snap out of his malaise.  “We can try.” He squinted at their intended destination, and slowly tried to scoot himself towards it, feeling his heart leap into his throat at the feeling of the wet, slippery wood under his hands and arms.

He had only gone about a foot, when the branch dipped farther, and a far worse sound reached their ears: the sound of wood splintering and cracking.

 

Both of them froze, staring at the end of the branch in apprehension.

“...We’re too heavy,” Ford said at last.  “If we try to move we’re just going to break the branch faster.”

He turned his head back to his brother-just in time for Stan to let go.

* * *

 

Stan didn’t fall very far; Ford’s arm shot out like a snake, somehow managing to catch him just under his own arm even as he let out an alarmed cry.

“What are you doing, you knucklehead?!” he shrieked, holding onto both him and the branch even though it must have been agony on both his arms.

“You said it yourself!  We’re both too heavy! But alone, you might have a chance!”

Ford stared at him like he’d forgotten how to understand English.  “You-you can’t possibly-”

“Why not?!  It’s the most logical-”

“STANLEY PINES, IF YOU FALL I’M JUST GOING TO FALL RIGHT AFTER YOU, DO YOU HEAR ME?!”

 

Stan couldn’t believe his ears.

“...You’re bluffing,” he finally managed to say.  It wasn’t quite loud enough to be heard over the falls, but Ford seemed to read his lips just fine.

“Look me in the eyes and  _ tell _ me I’m bluffing!” he demanded; even with all the noise around them Stan heard his voice  _ crack _ in a way it hadn’t since they’d first hit puberty.

Slowly Stan looked up into Ford’s eyes.

He’d always been good at reading people’s expressions; and, at least when they were kids, he’d been able to read his brother like a book.  Granted, it had been a long time since he’d had Ford around, and they had both changed a lot since then, but he could still see right now, even in the bad lighting, that what he was saying was absolutely, one hundred percent true.  And that he could argue until he was blue in the face, but Ford wasn’t going to budge on this. Whether he understood it or not.

A lump rose in his throat, and slowly he let his arms, which had been lying limp at his sides, wrap around his brother’s waist.  Ford kept his arm around him for an extra five seconds, probably afraid that he’d try to double-cross him and fall the minute he let go, before finally reaching up and grabbing hold of the branch again.

 

For a moment they just hung there, staring at each other.  Then Ford seemed to compose himself, blinking rapidly a few times and shaking his head a little.  His face screwed up in concentration, like his big brain could come up with some kind of miracle plan that would get them out of this.

Of course, if anyone could do it it was Ford, but Stan had a nasty feeling that it wasn’t going to be that simple this time.  Especially when he glanced down for a second-and nearly threw up when he saw the inevitable drop that was waiting for them, and had to hide his face in Ford’s tunic for a moment.

The branch creaked again, and they lurched downwards a few inches.  Stan let out a small yelp and gripped his twin tighter. He almost loosened his grip again, remembering that his twin still needed to breathe, when Ford spoke, words coming out in a flurry like he thought he wouldn’t have time to say them.

“I’m sorry too, Stanley!” he yelled, staring down at him with pained eyes.  “I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t worth anything, I’m sorry you spent so many years suffering on the streets, I’m sorry that I burned you and hurt you and didn’t appreciate how much you’re willing to sacrifice for me!”

Stan hadn’t been expecting to hear that.  It wasn’t like Ford never apologized-he was a lot better at it than Stan, honestly.  But he hadn’t expected him to apologize for-for all those things.

“I-It’s okay, Ford!” he called back.  “I screwed up everything first, so-”

“It doesn’t  _ matter _ !”  The anguish in his face only seemed to get worse; it probably wasn’t just because his arms had to be screaming in pain by now.  “It doesn’t  _ matter _ if anyone started it, we’ve both screwed everything up, and now we’re both  _ paying _ for it!”

“But you don’t  _ have _ to!  That’s my point!  You can probably get away from this if you just let me save you!”

_ Just let me go. _

 

By way of response, Ford, after staring at him for a moment, let his arm drop again, and wrapped it tightly around Stan’s shoulders, crushing him against him.

It said “No” even more thoroughly than saying the word “No” would have.

* * *

 

The branch broke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really, really tempted to wait a long time before posting the next chapter, just to see if I get any death threats or anything.  
> ...Yeah, I know, I'm an evil troll sometimes. 😈


	17. Deus ex...aqua?

They fell, both screaming loudly.

They couldn’t even feel embarrassed about it; it was one of those situations where it was perfectly acceptable to say, “Dignity, schmignity.”  Though of course, you were far more likely to say, “AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!” plus an optional litany of extensive swear words.

 

All of Stan’s worst nightmares were coming true at once.

He was falling to his death.

More importantly, Ford was going to die.

And there was nothing he could do to stop any of it.

All he could do was bury his face in Ford’s chest and hold him as tight as he could and pretend he couldn’t feel the wind rushing all around them or the way he’d left his stomach behind up at the top of the falls, and wish he had brought that grappling hook that was lying around the gift shop somewhere, or that he had done something,  _ anything _ else to prevent this situation somehow.

And hope that it would all be over quickly for both of them.

 

In some dimensions, maybe he had brought the grappling hook, and wore it while he was sleeping or something.  Or Ford somehow had held on to Vera, and he sacrificed their quest to move them safely into another dimension in the nick of time.  Or the Time Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squadron finally caught up with them and saved their lives, only to force them to fight in Globnar as punishment for their (or at least Stan’s) crimes against Time Baby.

Or maybe that was it for them.  Maybe the brothers Pines, still clinging to each other, were smashed to pieces on the sharp rocks (which were approximately 1,368 feet below), leaving behind just some scraps of cloth and bits of flesh and dark red stains which were soon washed away.

Here, though, the waterfall reached out and grabbed them.

* * *

 

No, really.

Stan wasn’t too clear on how it happened, but suddenly they were surrounded by water, making him wonder for a confused moment if they had hit bottom already and somehow survived, and then they were landing with a splat-but not the kind he was expecting-on a hard, somewhat curved surface.

For a minute all he could do was lie there and cough up what felt like half the river, feeling like he’d just gone five rounds in the boxing ring.  To his relief, he could hear his brother doing the same thing next to him.

“Ford?” he finally asked, “Are we dead?”

Ford didn’t seem to hear him.  He was muttering to himself, in a voice that was a combination of shock and disbelief, “The-the waterfall-it grabbed us-the waterfall grabbed us-”

“Oh geez, you’re not making any sense.  We  _ must _ be dead.”

Ford pushed himself up on hands and knees and glared at him.  “Except that you’re also making smart-alecky remarks, same as normal.”

“Good point.”  Stan painfully sat up, and winced when he got a look at his brother in the dim lighting.  The left lens of his glasses was just a bunch of shattered glass barely staying in the frame.

“Is your eye okay?”

Ford lifted his glasses and squinted.  “Yeah, thanks. I can’t see any worse than normal.”

“That’s comforting.”

Ford shoved his shoulder a little.  “Of course, the fact that it’s still nighttime makes it kind of hard to tell.”

Stan fumbled around in his clothes, trying to see if he had a lighter on him or anything; finally he gave up with a sigh of disgust.

“Guess we have to wait until morning to figure out where we are.”

 

Wherever it was, it had a bit of an echo to it.  Like they were in a cave behind the waterfall or something.  Right in front of them was the roaring, crashing stream of water, tumbling down thousands of feet to whatever lay below.

Stan stared at it, unable to help thinking,  _ That could have been us. _

_ It almost was us. _

_ What happened to make it  _ not _ us? _

He was interrupted from his musing by Ford asking, “Now do you believe me?”

Stan gave him the beginning of a confused frown-and then he realized what he was asking.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” he roared, leaping to his feet.  “You wouldn’t let me fall just to prove a  _ point _ ?!”

“NO!” Ford stood up too, glaring back at him.  “But I realized just now that if  _ that _ doesn’t prove that I meant it when I said I wouldn’t abandon you, nothing will!”

Stan wasn’t exactly sure why he was angry-though on second thought, no, he knew perfectly well why, it was because he’d tried once again to fix everything for his twin, and once again he’d been rebuffed.  Even though some voice of reason in the back of his head was trying to argue that he was being stupid about this and he should be grateful that Ford had been willing to risk his life if it meant keeping him alive a few minutes longer, because after all, wasn’t that what he’d tried to do for Ford?  And wasn’t that what he’d wanted all along, for his twin to care about him again and not see him as just a worthless parasite?

But he also remembered the horror and helplessness he’d felt as they were falling; he liked to think that if it had been just him falling, he could have at least had some satisfaction from knowing his brother was safe, and he hadn’t failed him again.

Ford was speaking again.  “I still can’t believe you did that.”

 

Stan knew exactly what he was referring to; his hands clenched.

“Well, if that ain’t just a big load o’ hypocrisy right there, after what you pulled!”

Ford glared at him over the tops of his glasses-but instead of yelling back like he expected, he asked in a soft, chilly voice, “Do you honestly think I could have lived with myself if I’d watched you fall to your death just to save me?”

That drew Stan up short.  He tried to think of a decent comeback to that, but finally had to settle for a weak, “You wouldn’t have had to watch.”

Ford did not look appeased.  “Stanley…”

“My whole purpose in going through that stupid portal was to find you and bring you home safe and try to fix everything I screwed up for you!  I couldn’t-”

Stan swallowed, losing his momentum.

 

Ford looked oddly torn.  Like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to punch him or start crying.  Instead, though, he finally said in a kind of trembly voice, “I couldn’t either, Stanley.”

There were lots of possible comebacks Stan could have used.  Like, “Oh,  _ now _ you care, after ten years pretending I didn’t exist?” or “You’re the smart one who’s going places; you don’t need me.”  Except that his twin had perfect counterarguments for all of them, and he’d said he was sorry for everything, and Stan didn’t think it was just because they’d been about to die, and it was stupid to keep dredging up old wounds over and over no matter how big they were.  And in the end, actions spoke louder than words, didn’t they?

So finally he just shrugged, wishing his boxers had pockets that he could shove his hands into.

“Fine, I won’t throw my life away for you if you won’t throw yours away for me.”

* * *

 

Both of them knew that there was no way either of them would keep that deal if the circumstances seemed to require otherwise, so Ford decided it was easier to do the same thing as his brother, and just shrug.

Then he squinted at Stan.  “Is it just me, or is it starting to get lighter in here?”

Stan looked around.  “It’s not just you, bro.  It’s morning.”

Sure enough, the inside of wherever they were finally had more light in it.  Granted, it was a gray, filtered light, same as usual for the mornings in this dimension, but it was enough for them to begin to get a good look at where they had ended up.

 

They were inside a tree.

The waterfall, in an act that made all the laws of physics throw up their hands in despair and ask, “Where did we go wrong?!” had created a wave that snatched them out of midair and pulled them inside, dropping them in the hollow of a giant tree that appeared to be growing just behind the falls.  And it was probably where that branch had come from, too.

Ford couldn’t believe his eyes, from what he could see of it through his smashed glasses.  Even though he had never really been inside of a tree before, unless you counted the underground bunker, he recognized the walls covered in living wood, and the smell of damp bark probably caused by this thing’s being partly submerged in a river.  Judging by this hollow they were in, which was about the size of his basement, it made the redwoods of California look like  _ toothpicks _ .

He reached out and ran his hand over some of the inner bark; it reminded him a little of oak, but probably even sturdier, so it could withstand the massive water pressure constantly raining down and around it.  He wondered if its branches reached all the way under the river, or if it was regulated to around this spot; and he wondered just how big this thing actually was, and how it had possibly managed to take root well enough to grow and thrive like this, unless it had perhaps started growing long before the river was here...

“Magnificent,” he whispered, beginning to pace along the edge of the hollow-and tripping over some grooves in the floor, nearly pitching flat on his face if Stan hadn’t caught him by the elbow.

 

He probably would have been content to explore for the rest of the day, had not an unfamiliar, slightly bubbling voice spoken up behind them.

_ “Oh good, you’re both still here.” _

They both spun around, to see-nothing.

Nothing but the endlessly falling water at the front of the tree.

“Who’s there?” Ford demanded, squinting through the good side of his glasses.

_ “Just me.” _

This time he saw something flickering in the water.

With a suspicious glare he stepped towards it.

“Show yourself!”

_ “You’re the boss.” _

And a face appeared in the waterfall.

 

It was like the current changed in a few places, until shapes were created; put together they created eyes, nose and a mouth, which was turned up in a slightly cheeky smile.

For a moment all they could do was stare.

“Ford?” Stan asked.

“Yeah?”

“The waterfall is talking to us.”

The waterfall made a noise like it was clicking its tongue in annoyance, even though it didn’t have a tongue to speak of.

_ “Well,  _ duh _!”  _ it said.   _ “This place is called the Dimension of Living Water for a  _ reason _ , dude!” _

The two men looked at each other, then back at the waterfall, the back at each other.

“...You’re the one who saved us?” Stan finally asked.

_ “Of course.  You both passed the test with flying colors!” _

“What test?”

_ “The trial to test your worth.  You wouldn’t believe how many people don’t pass-I’m ashamed to remember how many of them try to make their companions drop to buy themselves some extra time, or something like that.  It’s disgraceful! I have no problem making sure people like that get what they deserve.” _

Ford had a feeling that this was a clue as to why the smugglers had gone missing.

_ “It’s been a long time since I had anyone actually think about someone besides themselves in that situation, but you two-wow!  You-”  _ a tendril of water rose and reached out to them, lightly tapping Stan in the chest-  _ “You were  _ willing _ to fall just to save him, and you-” _ it transferred to Ford-  _ “didn’t think twice about stopping him, even if it meant you couldn’t save yourself!  You guys are  _ incredible _!  Seriously, you’re making me cry!” _   The tendril wiped at its ‘eyes,’ causing a few droplets of water to fly away and land inside the cave.  A few seconds later they rose, forming into little figures with legs, and jumped back into the falls.

 

Ford could feel a wave of fire start boiling in his stomach, and crawling up his spine.

“Ford?”  Stan’s voice sounded the way he felt.

“Yes?” he answered through gritted teeth.

“Is there a way to punch a waterfall?”

“Unfortunately, I have heard of none that were overly successful,” he said, remembering the tale of Xerxes and the Hellespont.  “Maybe if we had a big enough fire we could try  _ boiling _ it, though.”

Annoyingly, the waterfall just laughed.

_ “Yeah, I probably deserve that a little.  Even so, you guys totally earned your reward.” _   A new tendril of water appeared, shaping itself to look like an arrow, pointing to a spot in the back of the cave.  Some of the wood had shaped itself into what looked almost like a staircase, complete with a banister covered in vines.   _ “If you go over there and climb down, you’ll find what you need at the bottom.” _

The twins looked at each other again.

On the one hand, this thing was a jerk who had played with their lives just to see what they’d do.

On the other hand, there was really nothing they could do about that right now.

So, very grudgingly, they turned and headed for the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During the Persian War, King Xerxes tried to build bridges to cross the Hellespont, a river known nowadays as the Dardanelles, in his attempt to conquer the Greeks. A storm showed up out of the blue and totally destroyed the bridges. According to Herodotus, Xerxes threw a massive hissy fit over this and had his men give the Hellespont 300 lashes, throw a pair of handcuffs into it, and even have men with burning brands come and scorch the water.  
> ...Which taught it a really big lesson, I'm sure (eyeroll).
> 
> This little story feels like something that Ford, science and supernatural nerd though he might be, would find amusing and memorable. It's certainly one of my favorite stories from Greek history.
> 
> I know the night goes by kind of fast, but it happens that way in the wax figures episode too, so just suspend your disbelief, please. Or just decide that Ford was staying up way too late again; that's certainly plausible.


	18. Ford gets some food for thought-and new glasses, sort of

Stan grumbled angrily to himself as they descended, about stupid waterfalls who couldn’t mind their own business and what he’d do if he had a big enough stewpot and a fire.

Of all the kinds of people that he really hated, near the top of the list were smart alecks who thought screwing with him was funny.  And it wasn’t helping that he didn’t even have someone he could punch in the face to blow off steam.

 

The side of the tree, a few feet above the makeshift banister, was dotted with yellow glowing rocks, about the size of Stan’s palm, that looked a little like drops of amber.  Ford, who was naturally fascinated, had managed to prise one free to study it; it had stopped glowing once it was no longer attached to the wall, but he shoved it into his tunic anyway, muttering to himself about Geodites or something.  With their luck this would get them arrested for desecrating a sacred tree or something, but whatever.

 

It felt like they’d been walking for hours when they finally reached the bottom of the stairs.  There they found a rough, sandy floor, and a mammoth archway waiting for them.

Ford squinted at it through his broken glasses, eyes then widening with awe.

“I think that’s made by part of one of the roots of this thing.  It must be absolutely _enormous_!” he murmured.

Stan whistled.  “Big tree.”

Ford scoffed at the understatement, but it was far less contemptuous than he’d worried it would be.  Together they stepped under it, following the trail of lights. As they walked, they could hear the trickling of water, which was soon revealed to be a tiny creek running along beside them.  Stan gave it a baleful glare and deliberately stomped his bare feet through it as he walked, just in case it was connected to the waterfall. It was icy cold, but it wasn’t the first time he’d felt that, he could handle it just to be spiteful.  Even if it wasn’t all that effective.

Then, up ahead, his eyes caught a bigger glow, which was revealed to be a whole bunch of the sap lights or whatever stuck to the sides of an enormous cavern.  And lying on its side in the middle of it, at the side of this little creek thing-was the boat!

 

Granted, it was ripped in half, and was more than a little worse for wear.  But it was still the place that had been their home for the last week, and seeing it like this stirred a feeling of such strong nostalgia that Stan couldn’t help letting out a triumphant whoop and rushing towards it.

* * *

 Fortunately, Ford could still see well enough to follow after his twin, and there were no big obstacles around to trip him up.  He couldn’t help laughing a little as he chased after Stan, calling, “Wait up, knucklehead!”

“Hold on a sec!” Stan called back as he scrambled into the boat and disappeared into the cabin.  “I gotta see if-yes, it did! Just let me-!”

There were the sounds of rummaging and even a brief curse that sounded like the result of a stubbed toe, and then he was back, carrying several things in his hands.

“Here, this should help,” he said, holding one of them out.

Ford blinked; it was a pair of glasses.  Glasses, he realized, that were his.  There was a tiny crack in the left lens, but somehow that felt oddly appropriate.

 

“Where’d you get these?” he asked, taking off his broken pair and pulling the others on.  To his relief, they worked perfectly, and his world came back into focus, allowing him to see Stan’s expression turn a combination of sheepish and guilty.

“When you went through the portal...they were all that was left.”

Ford was taken aback.  “And you kept them? All this time?  You brought them through with you?” He chided himself for asking something so obvious, but he couldn’t help it.

“I-I didn’t know if you had your spares with you, or if-if you were stuck somewhere half-blind.”  Stan shifted guiltily again. “It’s not like I haven’t had ta bring ya your extra glasses before.”

Somehow, on top of everything they had gone through recently, this was the moment that made Ford’s eyes go all big and shiny behind their glasses.  “Stanley…”

Stan coughed, and quickly held up the other things he’d brought.  “And look! Your journals are okay! And your quantum thingy’s in the cabin too, but I figured you’d wanna see these first.”

 

Clearing his throat and blinking a little, Ford gratefully accepted them.  Then he remembered something, and opened the third one, turning it to a specific set of pages.

“That reminds me, I found something interesting when I was looking at them…”

He held it up so his brother could see.

“Those people you found who told you where to find me-they weren’t really oracles, were they?”

Stan cringed.  “It’s...kind of a long story, Poindexter.”

Ford closed the journal and tucked it under his arm.  “Is Vera in the boat too?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I think we can spare some time for you to tell me about it.”  He found a comparatively dry spot on the mini beach and started to sit down, but Stan said, “Nuh-uh, I’m not gettin’ sand in my shorts,” so they went to the wrecked boat and sat down in the most stable part of the deck.

And Stan, seeing he wasn’t getting out of it, told his story.

* * *

 Stan told Ford about winding up in a dimension with alternate versions of them, twenty-five or so years in the future, traveling the world in a boat studying anomalies by the Arctic Ocean and wherever else they could find them.  He told how they’d helped him figure out where Ford-his Ford-was, and helped him to fix Vera so he could go back into the multiverse looking for him. He even talked about how he and the other Stan had had fun teasing the other Ford together, despite the other Stan getting jealous and nervous of how much attention the other Ford was paying to him for a while.

“He kinda reminded me of Grandpa Romanoff, honestly,” Stan said of the other Ford.  They’d only met their mother’s father a few times when they were boys, and Ford’s memories of him were hazy at best, so he figured he just had to take Stan’s word for it.

 

When he finally wound down, Ford said after a few seconds, “That’s why you wanted to know if there was more than one Bill, isn’t it?”

Stan gave a small nod.

“...Why didn’t you tell me about all this sooner, then?  This is kind of crucial information.”

His eyes flicked closed.  “‘Cause I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

It was Ford’s turn to blink.

“Come on, Ford,” Stan said, voice filling with a kind of tired sarcasm.  “I just happened ta find an alternate dimension where we make up, destroy the triangle freak together and then kinda literally sail off into the sunset?  That sounds exactly like something I’d make up.”

When he put it like that, it made sense for him to not want to mention it.

“Besides, like you said, I wasn’t sure if there were two versions of the triangle that had showed up ta tempt you, or if he’d come ta both of you and who knows how many other versions of you there are out there.  Just thinkin’ about it’s givin’ me a headache.”

“Yes, thinking about multiverse theory is often quite the intellectual challenge.  It involves questioning the laws of causality, and the question of where exactly these different dimensions branch off-”

“ _STOP_ ,” Stan groaned, clapping his hands to his forehead.

Ford couldn’t help laughing again; it created a flash of deja vu of high school, when he’d tried to explain geometry to his twin and he’d done pretty much the same thing.

 

Then he said softly, “Had you told me this story without proof, you’re right, it would have been harder for me to believe you.  However…” he turned back to the map drawn in his own hand (sort of), “I don’t think even you would be able to forge my handwriting this well.”

“Challenge accepted.”

Ford shoved him in the shoulder.  “Shut up.”

 

His twin smiled at him again.  Then he said, “By the way, I think we’ve got the other stuff.”  Out of seemingly nowhere, he produced a locked silver box. “And look over there.”  He gestured with his thumb towards the far end of the cave, where there lay a large deposit of strange minerals.  “The other you said it’s called NowUSeeItNowUDontium, and it’s the power source ya need for your quantum thingy.”

Ford grinned, and got up to go inspect it.

* * *

 About twenty minutes later they’d gathered together everything they needed.  Sadly, most of Stan’s weapons and the few food supplies they had left had been washed away, but Ford was able to gather enough of the NowUSeeItNowUDontium for his purposes in a glass box he found nearby the deposit; he suspected the smugglers had designed it for the purpose of transporting the stuff, since it became radioactive when hidden from view.  And, to his relief, Stan was able to at least find his clothes, since they were going back into that arctic dimension and it wouldn’t do for him to catch hypothermia before they found the sisters.

Unfortunately, it looked like they would have to leave the boat behind.  With a strange lump of nostalgia growing in his throat, Ford dug an old pen out of his pocket, and they wrote their names on the side of it so if anyone else found it, they’d know who the real owners were.

“Okay,” Stan murmured at last, fiddling with Vera, “if we go back out inta the multiverse we can probably hitch a ride ta the right spot.  Let’s go tell this chick ta have a heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the idea that Ford got his awkward curious nerdiness from his mother's side of the family, because he sure as heck didn't get it from Filbrick unless his personality was extremely different when he was a young man.


	19. Edge of the Liminal Zone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points to anyone who can tell me what the title is referring to.

Hitching a ride turned out to be harder than it sounded.  For some reason, all the inter-multiverse travelers they found seemed strangely averse to picking up people whose wanted posters were plastered all the way from here to the nightmare realm.

Eventually, Stan just hijacked a vessel and, wracking his brain for the coordinates and name of the universe they were looking for, plugged them into the guidance system and drove off towards it at high speed.

The previous owner of the multiverse cruiser was probably going to be a little upset when he regained consciousness and found himself stranded in another dimension, but hey, at least they’d transported him to one of the parallel earths run by dolphins-onto a tropical beach, no less.  He’d be fine. Probably.

 

Unfortunately, despite Stan’s having more recent experience with driving than Ford, they were unable to land quite as smoothly as they had hoped.

“Oh, ow, everything hurts,” Stan groaned as they half-crawled away from the twisted burning wreckage and pulled each other to their feet.

Ford sighed, checking to make sure none of his limbs were broken.  There was a small cut on his forehead, and he was going to have some fresh bruises, but hey, it wasn’t like he’d never experienced that before.  “That would have been better without the cliff.”

“Yeah, sorry.”  Stan checked Vera anxiously, breathed out a sigh of relief when he saw there was no substantial damage to the gun.

“I wasn’t blaming you.  It was hard to see in all this-”  He gestured irritably to the storm surrounding them- “it probably would have happened no matter what.”  By squinting he managed to make out the cave, so they hurriedly began trudging through the snow towards it.

Just as they reached the entrance he barely heard his twin murmur, “Thanks, Ford.”

And then he was distracted from replying by a loud chorus of cheers.

 

Instantly he was grabbing for his gun (not the quantum destabilizer, one of the extras they’d managed to recover), brandishing it at-the three sisters, standing together in a corner of the cave in front of a quite welcoming fire.  All three of them were clapping; because of where they were situated, it created a bit of an echo effect.

He lowered the gun as soon as he registered who they were.

None of them seemed at all perturbed at his threatening them-again.  Hera giggled, in fact, and asked, “Is that your normal way of saying hello, or are we just special?”

“Well, he’s been told before that he needs to think before he shoots,” said Cici, who Ford noticed had borrowed an eye from both her sisters.  “But I’d like to think we’re special to him anyway.”

He hoped fervently that his face didn’t look as warm as it felt.  Either way, Stan was stepping forward and doing a cheesy bow.

“Thank you for that wonderful ovation!”

“We thought you needed it after everything you’ve been through,” said Cici with a little shrug.

“Then I guess we oughta give you this.”  And from behind his back he produced the silver box.

 

Cici let out a squeal that had Ford fighting not to clap his hands over his ears, and ran forward, snatching it from Stan.

“You got it!  Oh, thank you so much, this is the happiest day of my life!”  Immediately she started reaching for her collar-but then Hera was at her side, smacking her hand down.

“Don’t put it back in _now_ , there’s other people present!”

Cici glowered at her.  “Oh _please_ , it’s not like they'd see anything weird!  I showed them earlier-”

“You should know better by now than to let men see your heart!”

“They got it _back_ for me, Hera, I don’t think I need to worry about them trying to steal it!”

To the side of their squabbling, Teller gave the men a long-suffering look that was perfectly interpreted as, “Yes, this is what I have to put up with _all the time_.”

 

Ford finally coughed into his fist.  “Um, if you would, please?” He held out his hand.  “Our payment?”

Cici and Hera didn’t seem to hear them.  Rolling her eyes, Teller took the chain with the coordinates from around her neck and held it out to him.  Ford accepted them gratefully.

“Thank you so much.”

She smiled and blushed, then drove her elbow hard into Cici’s side.  She nearly dropped the box, and after fumbling to catch it for a second her attention was drawn back to them.

“Oh.  You’re leaving?”

Ford was about to answer when Stan turned to him, a hint of anxiety in his eyes for some reason.  He cleared his throat and asked, “Do you wanna try for the nightmare realm? You got what you need ta fight Bill now, and you’re the one who got screwed over by him.  It’s your call.”

 

That drew Ford up short.

His brows lowered over his eyes, and he stared down at the box of NowUSeeItNowUDontium.

“You say the other versions of us defeated him together?”

“Yeah, but way in the future, giving the triangle lots of time ta hurt lots of other people.  And who knows, it _might_ not mess up the space-time continuum if you’re the one ta take him down.”

Ford rolled his eyes at him before frowning in thought again.

It was awfully tempting, to finish putting together the quantum destabilizer here and then go charging off to destroy his nemesis.  It was what he’d spent the last six years planning on doing, or to die trying. And now he had hope that he could actually make it back to his own dimension afterwards.  _And_ Stan was giving him his full support for it; in fact, judging by his body language and determined expression he had every intention of coming with him whether he liked it or not.

Ford looked at Stan.

He looked back down at the box.

He looked at his brother again.

“Let’s go home, Stanley.”

Stan beamed.

* * *

Once the Pineses were gone, Cici’s heart was put back in her chest, and she let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh man, that feels so much better.  I finally feel whole again.”

“Tell me about it,” Hera said.  She looked back at where the twins had been, and sighed.  “We’re never gonna see them again, are we?”

“Not those ones, no.”

Hera shook her head dramatically.  “I can feel my heart breaking just thinking about it.”

There was a wet squishy sound over to her right.  She looked over at Teller and smiled. “No, not really, I was exaggerating.  But thanks, sis.”

Teller smiled back sheepishly, and returned her own heart to her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww, so much familial affection!


	20. Home are the sailors, home from the sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sigh...guess I'm the only one who learned about Joseph Campbell and the Hero's Journey.  
> That's what the last chapter's name was referring to.  
> Oh well.

The basement had been empty and undisturbed for around four years now.  Everything-the portal, the equipment, the floor-was coated in a thick layer of dust, except for the barrier of unicorn hair, which still shone as brightly as the day it had been cut.  Not even mice or bugs came down here, so arguably it was even more silent than the grave.

 

And then a loud thrumming split the air, and an oval of light appeared in the wall for a moment-until two shadowy figures leaped through it, landing lightly on their feet.  The drama of the situation was a little undermined by the fact that nobody was around to see it, and that as soon as they were through the oval it vanished, plunging them back into darkness and causing them to bump into each other.  Had anyone seen it, though, it would have been pretty awesome.

 

And after a few seconds, there was a click, and the screen on Vera lit up, creating a small green glow in their corner of the room.  Stan squinted at the readings, checking them over once, twice.

Before Ford could say anything, he let out a whoop of joy and tossed the gun to the floor (this time it was durable enough not to break), and Ford found himself being grabbed around the middle and hoisted into the air.

“WE MADE IT!!!!” Stan yelled with jubilation, actually spinning around in his excitement.

“Ah-Stanley-what’re you-agh-Stan-”

Despite his attempted protests, Ford found himself laughing giddily too, and having to grab onto his brother’s shoulders for balance.

Against all odds, they had done it.  They were home, and if Bill ever showed himself again, they had the materials to defeat him.

He was back home; no matter how many times his mind repeated it, it seemed too good to be true.

 

Stan continued laughing and spinning for another thirty seconds, before finally he stumbled into a wall and half-dropped Ford.

As soon as they were face to face again, his expression became a lot more self-conscious, as best Ford could make it out in the sparse lighting.  Stan stumbled back, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Heh...sorry.”

Ford smiled at him.  “Don’t be.”

 

They gathered up their things, and headed for the stairs.  Carefully Stan pulled out the key to the door (like Ford’s glasses, it had been in his vest for all this time), and let them out.  And then they used the elevator to the next level of the house, and then the stairs to the final door.

They looked at each other in a way that both of them would have vehemently denied was any type of nervousness.

“Ready for this?” Ford asked.

“Nope.  Let’s do it.”  And Stan grabbed the doorknob, turned it, and pushed.

And the door wouldn’t open.

 

He tried a few more times, but it was stuck, or something heavy was in front of it.  Idly Stan wondered if Fiddleford had put a vending machine or something in front of it, like the other him had done.

“Oh screw it,” he finally muttered, snatching up Caryn and pushing Ford back.  He didn’t have time for this.

“There,” he said a few seconds later, looking proudly at the pile of wreckage in front of them, “that’s got it.”

Ford rolled his eyes at him and stepped through-and froze when he saw the group of people standing there, looking like a whole herd of deer in front of a Mack truck.

 

He recognized some of them from town-that girl, Shandra something-or-other who was always carrying a little toy microphone and trying to interview people; the lady who worked at the diner, who seemed to have developed a problem with her eye; the only-competent-in-the-loosest-sense-of-the-word Deputy Blubs.  The rest, judging by their clothes and the amount of cameras they were wielding, were a tourist group.

His brain froze, trying to come up with some kind of explanation for why they were here that wouldn’t result in his sounding completely crazy.

Before he could, though, Stan took care of things in his own, incredibly Stanley way: he lunged through the hole he’d created in the wall, hands spread wide with the fingers curved into claws, and roared with an evil grin, “RAWRRR!!!!”

* * *

 

A few seconds later, the house needed a new front door, and there was a large cloud of dust heading back to town.

Stan stood in the doorway, proudly laughing his head off.

Then he turned around to see his brother with his hands on his hips, not looking completely disapproving but still with a bit of a “Really, Stanley?” expression.

“What?” he asked sheepishly.  “I couldn’t resist.”

“Yes, because you tried so hard.”  Ford’s tone was as dry as dust. Before he could speak further, both of them froze in horror when a familiar gruff yell of shock came from behind them.

 

_ No… _

_ It can’t be… _

They turned to see...Stanley, standing at the entrance to the tour area.  A Stanley who looked around their age, but with the mullet, and wearing their dad’s old fez and suit, and as pale as a ghost.

His eyes were wide, and completely focused on Ford.

“...S-Sixer?” he croaked, taking a small step forward.  “How-?”

_ We’re in the wrong dimension. _

_ No no NO _

Before Stan could find a way to articulate the horror creeping into his chest, someone else who was slightly more expected appeared next to the other Stanley, gasping when he saw them.

 

“Sweet sarsaparilla!”

Fiddleford-this dimension’s Fiddleford, at least-wore a finely tailored black suit a lot like Stan’s, which looked a little odd considering that he was still barefoot but was at least cleaner than those old overalls he’d been wearing the last time Stan saw him.  And it looked like he’d stopped tearing his hair out-if this version of him had ever did that, there was no way of knowing-

But then Fiddleford was rushing over to him, eyes delighted behind his giant glasses, and throwing his arms around both him and Ford and crushing them against him with surprising wiry strength for someone whose arms were practically the size of noodles.

“Ya got him back!  Holy shindig, Ah thought Ah’d never see neither of you two ever again!”

“Da-wha-bu-”  Stan gasped in bewilderment.

“What’s goin’ on here?!” the other him demanded at last, finding his voice and surging forward.  “That’s  _ my _ brother, Fidds, get your own!”

Just as he reached them, though, Fiddleford released the brothers and quickly pulled out a small hand control, pushing a series of buttons with his thumbs.

The other Stanley screeched to a halt, arms outstretched towards Ford, and something about his eyes changed; like they’d become less colorful or something.  A few sparks flared up at the spot where his neck met the collar of his suit.

 

“...Ah told you Ah was gonna make a robot you,” Fiddleford said smugly, looking up at Stan’s astonished face.  Then, becoming more chagrined, “Looks like the biomechanical brainwave generator worked just a mite too well.”

As he processed this information, Stan felt himself going limp with relief.

They really were home.

* * *

 

Several hours later, finally cleaned up, in fresh clothes and fed, the three men sat around the kitchen table talking each other’s ears off about everything that had happened since they last saw each other.

Ford apologized quite a few times to Fiddleford for how he’d mistreated him, until the hillbilly scientist threatened to sic the robot on him if he said it again.

“It’s  _ okay _ , Stanford,” he insisted.  “Yer tryin’ ta fix it now; that’s all that matters.”

He oohed and aahed with delight when Ford produced some of his souvenirs from his travels, including that rock from the giant tree, and they quickly began talking about ways to potentially make it glow again.

Stan leaned back in his chair, just listening to them in a kind of warm bliss and feeling his eyes grow a little heavy.  He only snapped back into the conversation when he heard Ford call his name for the third time.

“Hm?”  He opened his eyes and realized they were alone in the kitchen.

“Fiddleford’s getting out some spare mattresses if we want to stay in the attic tonight, until we can figure out different sleeping arrangements.”  Ford hesitated. “If you want to stay here, that is.”

Stan was fully awake in an instant.  He blinked in confusion at his brother’s nervousness, before asking, “Do  _ you _ want me to stay?”

Ford made a sound that was somewhere between disbelief and annoyance.  “What part of ‘losing you made me feel ripped in half too’ did you not understand?”

“...The ‘too’ part.  I didn’t realize there was a ‘too.’”

“Oh, for-the fact that I understood exactly what you were feeling should have clued you in that I knew from personal experience!”

“I’ve tried not to hope too much for good things, okay?”  Stan could feel embarrassment trying to cover itself up with defensive anger, tried to shove it back down.

Ford took a deep breath at around the same moment he did.  “...Stanley, will you please stay? If that’s what you want?”

“Yes, that’s what I want.  Even if you want me to close down the Mystery Shack or whatever-”

“We can worry about that later.  It’s partly Fiddleford’s decision too, since he’s currently one of the co-owners.  What we need to discuss instead is...someone I think we need to go see.”

“Who?”

A second later Stan figured it out on his own, and said in a very small voice, “Oh.”

* * *

 

**Three weeks later**

 

The last few years had been very hard on Caryn Pines.

She wouldn’t fall completely apart-for the sake of what remained of her family, she wouldn’t let herself.

But there were mornings when she was finding it increasingly difficult to get up and face the day.

 

Six years ago, her little free spirit had died in a car crash.  She had first lost him when he was just a boy, barely managed to receive any kind of contact from him in the years after that, and now he was gone forever.

Then, two years later, she received a letter (and not even handwritten, mind you-it was typed) from Stanford, saying that he was going on a long scientific expedition somewhere far away, and didn’t know when he’d be back.  It assured her that he loved her and that he’d miss her, and that he’d let her know when he was home. And she hadn’t heard from him since.

She didn’t talk to Filbrick about it.  Just the thought of doing so made her stomach churn and her fists clench in her lap.  He was the last person she would ever tell about her concern for her child, after he’d-

Sighing, she went back to brushing her hair, frowning a little at the gray streaks she could see in it and wondering if she should bother trying to dye them.

 

Was it her imagination, or had the whole world lost color in the last six years?

Caryn wondered about this as she finished getting ready for the day and seated herself by her phone, ready to get calls from new suckers wanting to know misinformation about their love lives or fortunes in the stock market.  It just seemed like Glass Shard Beach had become a much gloomier place, even on sunny days. The only thing that helped was getting out of the pawn shop, going to bridge club or bingo or, better, getting out of New Jersey altogether and visiting Shermie’s family.  And even the last one hurt, deep down in her chest, if she didn’t keep herself distracted by playing with her grandchildren and not remembering two other young faces.

 

Caryn sighed again, playing with the phone cord with one long fingernail.  As if sensing her-malaise, yeah, that was the four-dollar word Stanford would’ve used-it began ringing.  Shaking her head at herself, she picked it up.

“Madame Caryn’s, here ta unlock the secrets of the universe for the willing mind,” she said, speaking the lines she’d used millions of times before.

For about five seconds the other end was silent.  She was just about to dismiss it as a prank call and hang up, when a voice asked, “M-Mrs. Pines?”

It was a man’s voice, and something about it sounded a little...off.  Like it was familiar, but whoever it was was trying to disguise it. The weirdness was enough to make Caryn sit up straight, and say in a less mysterious voice, “This is she.”

The man at the other end cleared his throat a little.  “When was the last time that you were in contact with your son, Stanford Pines?”

 

The question was enough to make her breath catch in her throat, and her eyes turn damp.  Suddenly she felt a rush of anger; how  _ dare _ this person, whoever he was, call her and dredge up this wound she was spending all her time fighting to close?!

“Who is this?!” she demanded.  “Is this the FBI again? ‘Cause I told you last time what you could do with yourselves-”

“Wait!”  The voice was suddenly frantic enough to shut her up.  “We have some important information on his whereabouts, ma’am!  ...But it’s not safe to tell you over the phone.”

Caryn’s mouth dropped open a little, the anger shriveling up at once.

There was a hint of muffled conversation, and then the voice asked, “...Are you still there?”

Slowly she nodded, murmuring, “Yeah.”

“Meet m-us at-” more whispering- “Pier 13, tonight at sundown.  Come alone.”

“Wha-wait-”

But then there was the click of a receiver in her ear.

* * *

 

Caryn was lost in thought for the rest of the day, nearly telling one of her phone clients that he was going to become the emperor of Russia before she caught herself.  She weighed the pros and cons of obeying that crazy call, wondered if she was about to do something stupid.

But just before sundown she tiptoed down the stairs, out of sight of Filbrick (who was in his office anyway) and slipped out into the streets.

Thankfully, not too many people were out tonight, allowing her to make it to the pier in a decent amount of time, especially in the heels that she still wore (just because she was no longer twenty didn’t mean she couldn’t have shoes that showed off how graceful and slender her ankles still were).  Her heart was pounding  _ hard _ , and seemed to be thudding right in her ears.

 

When she stepped out onto the pier, at first she thought it was empty.  Then, at the very end, wearing long trench coats and felt hats like the gangsters in those silly movies-

As soon as she saw there were two of them standing there, Caryn felt a suspicion.  Then, as she got closer, a disbelief with a hint of certainty leaking into it. And then, as she got closer, some instinct was enough to make her run towards them, regardless of her old bones, and throw her arms around both her boys’ shoulders.

They uttered twin (hah) exclamations of surprise, but almost at once they were holding her back, and she could feel six fingers burying themselves in her hair, and another big arm around her waist, and for a full minute she couldn’t do anything but sob into their ridiculous trench coats.

Eventually, though, she was able to pull back and smack both their arms.

“Ow!” they cried in almost-unison again.

“There had better be an  _ amazing _ explanation for this!”  Caryn somehow managed to yell without yelling, putting her hands on her hips.  “What the h-do you have  _ any _ idea how-how could you do this to me?!”  She turned the main focus of her wrath onto Stanley, who was shrinking back like a kicked puppy.  “For the last six years I thought you were  _ dead _ , how  _ could _ you, why?!”  She was aware that her voice had become increasingly raised, and that her mascara was probably all running down her face, but you can probably take a guess as to how much she cared.

“And don’t think you’re getting off the hook either!” she barked, pointing an accusing finger at her other baby, who jolted like her nail had actually stabbed him.  “Where the  _ h_ll _ have you  _ been _ ?!  I’ve been worried sick about you, you couldn’t think to give me more information about where you were going or anything?!”

“...It’s a really long story, Ma,” Stanley whispered softly.  “We’re so, so sorry, but a lot’s happened, and-well.”

 

Caryn let out a long breath, and then wiped her eyes angrily on her wrist, not caring if her mascara got smeared on her bracelets.

“Well, we got the whole night ahead of us.”  She grabbed one of their sleeves in each hand, and tugged them over towards the end of the pier, forcing them to sit down with their legs dangling.  She sandwiched herself between them, tossing her heels over her shoulder.

“B-but what about Dad?” Ford asked, looking uncomfortable just at bringing him up.

“He doesn’t have to know,” she said firmly.

“...I’m technically still banned from Jersey,” Stan admitted, “even if they don’t know I’m not dead-”

“Stanley Pines, neither of you are leaving this pier until I say so.  Now start talkin’.”

Despite her firm words, Caryn gently threaded her arms through each of theirs, pulling her boys against her and then taking their hands too.

And after a moment, they began to talk, taking turns telling her their story.

And for the first time in years, Caryn Pines felt whole again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Surprise Mama Caryn at the end, ta-dah!  
> I hope all my readers, even the ones who didn't comment, enjoyed this story. I poured my blood, sweat, tears and other fluids into it, so you better dang well appreciate it even if you didn't enjoy it.


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